


Light the Way

by Boschling



Series: Light It Up [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2020-05-02 09:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 115
Words: 277,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19196530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boschling/pseuds/Boschling
Summary: Melisandre's sophomore year of high school is off to a disastrous start. That's when she finds Robert Baratheon passed out on her couch and his younger brother stuck in her head.Jaime's junior year of high school is off to a middling start. If only he could find that blonde freshman. The one who punched him in the face.Thoros' senior year of high school is off to a great start. He has a new best buddy Beric, and they are both totally happy with their completely platonic friendship.Three relationships through one year of high school and a whole lot of life.





	1. Melisandre (What a World 1 of 8)

**Author's Note:**

> This story started as an attempt to give two of my favorite pairings a happy ending. Naturally, it couldn't be set in medieval Westeros... Then Jaime and Brienne somehow crashed the party, because since when does Jaime Lannister do what he's told. The story is divided into plot arcs. This first arc, What a World, is primarily world-building, featuring Melisandre and Stannis' meet cute. It will be the only arc told exclusively from Melisandre's POV and the only arc to feature just one of the three main relationships. Character descriptions are based on television where available, and to fit as many characters as possible into a four-year age range, dramatic liberties have been taken with ages! I have eighty chapters currently drafted and will be posting on M/W/Fri/Sun until I burn through those. Thanks for reading!

Melisandre woke up from some pleasant half-remembered dream. Kinvara had been there, and they had held hands on the swing set in the abandoned playground, not swinging, just sitting there in the sunlight. And Kinvara had smiled at her as she had in the beginning. They hadn’t kissed in the dream, like they had in the beginning, but just the warmth and the closeness and the unfeigned happiness had been achingly sweet. 

And now, awake in her room, with her reality lying in tatters around her, she felt the warmth of the dream give way to the fog of despair.

Yesterday, her first day of sophomore year, had been hell. Walking through the halls, chin up, pretending not to notice the way everyone whispered about her. Eyes staring, smirks. She had avoided Kinvara until lunch time, but there her strength had failed her. Coming out of the kitchen with her tray, she had glanced just once at their table. Kinvara’s table.

Kinvara had been sitting there, with the girls who used to be Melisandre’s friends, smirking. Her thick brown hair tumbling in curly waves, and Melisandre knew how her hair smelled, how it poofed out behind her on a bed like a dark halo. Then Kinvara said something, and all the girls laughed. One flung her stuff on the empty chair, to make it clear that the space was occupied. Melisandre could sit somewhere else.

She hadn’t known where to sit. At last she had gone to the rarely used bathroom on the second floor of the library, and balanced her tray on her knees in the furthest stall. She refused to cry. So what. So what if Kinvara had told the rest of the world that Melisandre had become obsessed with her, tried to trap her into creepy lesbian fantasies, stalked her, set her greenhouse on fire. Told their friends, told the entire high school, told the families at temple.

So what if Kinvara, her first friend, her first girlfriend, her first… first, had betrayed her.

Freshman year they had been best friends. Melisandre had moved to King’s Landing with her family from Essos, the latest in an unending series of moves. Low expectations were a long learned lesson. But she had met Kinvara at temple, and discovered they were starting at the same school. And Kinvara had grown up here, had friends here, and now they were her friends. But nobody was as close as Kinvara. Kinvara who was as confident as her, as smart as her, as dark as her. They could be themselves together, and they were. They had study parties turned slumber parties, whispering to each other late into the night. They kept a notebook of the names of the people who made fun of their lord, and delighted in extracting petty vengeances. A slashed tire here, a stolen wallet there. They had been each other’s dates to freshman prom, wearing matching scarlet dresses. Girls on fire. Together.

At the end of freshman year, her parents had received yet another missionary posting from the temple. They were moving to Lorath, half a world away from Kinvara, and Melisandre had prayed to her lord for intervention. And the lord had answered.

Her older brother by two years, Thoros, refused to go. Said he wasn’t going to spend his senior year as the new kid, again. That he could get a job, and seventeen was old enough to look after himself. The rest of the family could leave, but he was staying. And if they didn’t let him stay, he might start acting out.

This was not an idle threat. Thoros embarrassed their parents constantly with his behavior, his constant drinking, the girls who turned up in his bed, the petty theft. But by some kind of mutual agreement, he’d kept it away from the temple for the most part. Lord of Light forbid he disgrace the family in front of the elders. 

So it was agreed. Thoros could stay. And as their parents turned to her to give instructions on packing, Melisandre announced that she was staying too. If Thoros was old enough to take care of himself, he was old enough to take of her. She was just as sick of moving as he was, and why should he be rewarded for bad behavior? They were both staying, and she would keep an eye on him and make sure his grades didn’t slide too much and that he was still attending services. And that he didn’t blow the checks their parents sent on booze.

Her mother and father had acquiesced. Melisandre was a little hurt—not surprised, but still hurt—at how quickly they accepted the idea of leaving their children. They seemed almost relieved. They had always been more interested in saving souls than playing parent. Now Mom and Dad were tinny voices on the phone and a monthly check. For an entire summer, Melisandre had been in heaven.

She and Kinvara had spent long lazy days at the public pool together, or at the abandoned playground, or volunteering at temple functions. They spent long lazy nights at the movies or star gazing on the apartment roof. And for the fucking record, it had been Kinvara who had come on to her. One night on that apartment roof, with a handle of rum stolen from Thoros’ room (Melisandre knew all his hiding spots), Kinvara had clambered into Melisandre’s lap and kissed her. And she tasted like chocolate and cherries and Melisandre had fallen in love.

It wasn’t until fall was in the air and school shopping discounts were in the windows that Kinvara began to pull back. She started cancelling last minute, started complaining about Melisandre being clingy. They had seen each other for the last time at the swing set, and when Melisandre tried to take her hand, Kinvara had flinched.

Melisandre had tried again, with words this time.

“Have you looked at the class list? What electives are we signing up for?” 

And Kinvara had turned, blue eyes hard and cold. 

“There is no ‘we’ Mel. Not at school. Not ever.” 

Melisandre had swallowed. There wasn’t anything shameful about what they had. The Lord of Light was clear that souls had no gender, that love between two souls therefore could not be gendered either.

“It’s not the Lord, you crazy bitch!” Kinvara had snapped, and Melisandre had realized that she had spoken out loud. “It’s that I don’t love you. I have never loved you. You were fun. You were an experiment. Now you’re not fun and you bore me.” Kinvara stood up abruptly. “Stay away from me freak.” And she had stormed away.

So yeah. Melisandre had abandoned her parents half a world away to live with her dead beat brother for a girl who was now acting like she didn’t exist, and if she did exist, then she was the Great Other. Fuck. 

Melisandre got out of bed. Their apartment was temple housing, so they weren’t allowed to decorate. Her walls were completely bare. Like a prison cell. Fitting. She didn’t bother to put on clothes. Why go to school at all. So she could spend another day listening to the rumors that Kinvara had spread about her? So she could eat lunch in the bathroom, again? 

She walked into the living room and was half-way to the kitchen, when someone on the couch snored. She froze. She turned.

Robert fucking Baratheon. Football star, prom king, most popular boy in school, was passed out on her couch in a pool of vomit.


	2. Melisandre (What a World 2 of 8)

Melisandre breathed quietly through her nose, worried that she might wake him. Robert Baratheon. In her living room. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and even passed out with a crust of drool on his face, he was handsome. His black hair was sticking every which way, but that only made him seem appealingly vulnerable. Melisandre shook herself from this line of thought and edged for the door.

Once in the hallway, she turned briskly and marched to the room across from her own and let herself in, closing the door carefully behind her. The lights were still off, the shades were still drawn, and a prone figure lay curled in bed, a pillow over his head. Melisandre growled. She snatched the pillow and brought it down hard on his face.

“THOROS!” She smacked him again. “GET THE FUCK UP, AND TELL ME WHAT THE HELL ROBERT FUCKING BARATHEON IS DOING ON OUR COUCH!” She tried to land a third blow, but he was now shielding his face behind his forearms. 

“Shit, Melly, stop screaming, my head feels like it’s going to split in half,” Thoros groaned, his voice raspy and snarled with sleep.

With a deep breath, Melisandre lowered the pillow. Thoros peeked between his arms and lowered them when he saw that the danger had passed. She scowled down at him.

For two siblings who both had red hair and blue eyes, they could not have looked less alike. His hair was perpetually disheveled, too long and wild unless he had it pulled back in one of the stupid top-knots he habitually wore. That was a hold-over from how they had been expected to dress during their three years in Myr, a time that Thoros apparently remembered more fondly than she did. He also had an awful scraggly beard, which he insisted made him look more manly. It made him look more like a fucking hobo. Beyond that, his nose had been broken several times during fights, giving him a crooked nose to match his crooked teeth. Finally, though they were both taller than average, Melisandre had a willowy figure and Thoros stockier. Basically, he was built for fighting, which was useful, since that was what he spent most of his non-drinking hours doing.

“Thoros,” she began sweetly. “Why is Robert Baratheon, the stag king, the stormlord paramount, on our couch?”

Blood-shot blue eyes blinked blearily at her. 

“Who?” Thoros finally managed.

“Robert Baratheon! Our school quarterback! ON! OUR! COUCH!”

“You mean Rob, guy who was on the bar stool next to me last night getting shit-faced? He doesn’t go to our school, he was at a bar. How’d he get in if he was under twenty-one?”

“The same way you got in!” Melisandre hissed. She began sorting through his closet, flinging the cleanest clothes she could find at him. 

“I work there, of course they let me in. He doesn’t work there,” Thoros objected reasonably, before a pair of jeans smacked him in the face.

“I know he doesn’t work there! He’s from one of the richest families at school! And you brought him here! To our shit-hole apartment!” Melisandre snapped a white T-shirt at him.

“What’s wrong with our apartment?” Thoros asked as he struggled to get the shirt on.

“It’s low-income housing! We can’t put up any decorations not approved by the elders! We live in a fucking tenement run by our temple and soon the entire school is going to know us as those creepy cult kids from the wrong side of the tracks!”

“What tracks?”

“It’s a metaphor!”

Melisandre stormed from the room, slamming the door hard. Only to remember that they had a house guest who she very much did not want to wake up.

With a deep breath, she poked her head into the living room. She needn’t have worried. Robert Baratheon had not moved an inch from where she left him, and his snoring continued unabated.

She sighed, and then glumly crossed to the kitchen to pour herself some dry cereal. Lucky Charms. Ha. She sat at the table, where she could keep an eye on Robert, as she slowly ate one piece at a time.

Rob from the bar. Ha. Everybody but her brother knew who Robert Baratheon was. He was a living legend. He already had a full ride football scholarship to the Aerie, the most prestigious university in the country after the Citadel. He had led their school to back to back division championships. The teachers let him get away with murder, especially Arryn and Selmy, who were usually better than that. The Baratheons owned Stormsend Shipping. He drove a fucking Bugatti! 

And everybody knew about him and Lyanna Stark. They’d been the golden couple last year, Mr. and Mrs. Popular, all over each other all the time. Either sticking their tongues down each other’s throats or screaming in each other’s faces. Until Spring Fling, when Rhaegar Targaryen, then a senior, had been crowned spring king, and crowned Lyanna his princess in front of his girlfriend Elia Martell, in front of Robert Baratheon, in front of the world.

Robert had beat the shit out of Rhaegar the next day after school, but by that point everyone knew that Lyanna and Rhaegar had been having a month-long affair. That they’d decided to hell with their respective partners and gone as public as public gets. Word was Robert hadn’t been doing so well, and apparently word was right if he was ending up on bar stools next to Thoros. How the mighty had fallen.

Melisandre popped another marshmallow into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Kinvara would be dying for this gossip right now. Such a shame they weren’t talking any more. Maybe they could blackmail Robert into not telling his prissy rich friends about the creepy-crawlies he’d discovered during his sojourn through the slums if they promised not to tell that he was getting blackout at a dive bar.

Ugh. His awful friends would probably find that impressive. And why did she care anyway? It’s not like she was going to school today. Not after yesterday. Melisandre crunched another charm.

Thoros sidled into the kitchen, and poured himself a glass of water with a side of four Advil for breakfast. He was thankfully wearing his clean clothes and had brushed and pulled back his hair. 

“Thoros, I don’t think you realize the predicament that you’re in,” Melisandre said slowly. “Robert Baratheon is the most popular kid in school.”

“Oh my god, I know! Do you think he’ll give me his number?” Thoros replied mockingly in a high-pitched girlish voice. “So what if he is?” His voice dropped back to its usual growl.

“We are not popular. You, and, as of yesterday, I, do not have any friends.”

“First, those girls are bitches. You don’t need them. Second, I have friends.”

“Name one.”

“Clegane.”

“He lets you sit at his table because you both work at the same bar. That’s not a friend, that’s a co-worker.”

“He doesn’t let anybody else sit at his table.”

“Congrats, he hates you slightly less than he hates other people. Still not your friend.”

“Mormont.”

“He worships you because you buy him beer with your fake ID. He’s not a friend, he’s your fucking puppy. And he’s a freshman. And he’s a loser.”

“Anguy?”

“He’s your weed-dealer. Not your friend.”

Thoros scratched his chin absent-mindedly and reached for the cereal.

“Fine, I concede that I—”

“We”

“I concede that we have no friends. So what. We’re new, we’re poor, we’re in a cult. There’s plenty of reasons for kids not to like us, and it’s fucking high school so who gives a shit. You’re going to university, I’m going to bartend, we can both be free of... of...” Thoros hesitated for a second and then finished “shit like this.”

Melisandre knew he had been going to say the temple and she felt her heart soften a little bit. She knew that was the real reason that he had wanted to stay in King’s Landing, so he could stop going to services and get away from the elders and the rules and the punishments. She knew in his heart of hearts, he believed in their god as much as she did, but the temple made him miserable and this had been his out. An out that she had kind of ruined by insisting on staying with him, but whatever, another three years of services wouldn’t kill him. And he needed her looking out for him, because he could be so clueless about stuff like this.

“Like you said, we’re all those things and we have no friends. Our lives are bearable because we’re anonymous. I’ve screwed that up for myself a little with Kinvara, but that’ll go away in a month or two. But Robert? Thoros, if he starts making us the butt of his stories, we’re on the rich kids’ radar. The Lannisters, the Martells, the Starks. Have you met Cersei Lannister? She will make our lives hell. And you try telling me this shit doesn’t matter when Balon Greyjoy is giving you a swirly or Gregor Clegane is giving you a nice burn to match his brother’s.”

“First, I could take Balon Greyjoy.”

“Could you take Balon AND Euron AND Victarion AND Aeron?”

Thoros ignored her.

“Second, Rob’s a good dude. We spent all night drinking together, I wouldn’t have saved him from driving home drunk if he’d been an asshole. He’s not going to turn the school against us, he’s going to be happy and grateful that he woke up on a couch instead of in a dumpster.”

Melisandre massaged her temples.

“Why do you always have to see the good in people?” She asked grimly.

“Why do you always have to see the bad?”

“Experience.”

“Okay Smelly Melly,” Thoros had to dodge a spoon for bringing back that nickname. “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“Why do you care?” She shot.

“Cuz Rob spent all night talking about all the chicks he’s banged and you’re running around in booty shorts that say ‘slut’ across the ass.”

“They’re pajamas.”

“Great. Change out of your pajamas, we have to wake our guest and go to school soon.”

“I’m not going,” Melisandre sighed.

Thoros frowned.

“It’s not woman problems is it? I don’t care what we told mom and dad about watching out for each other, I’m not buying you tampons.”

“Relax asshole, yesterday just sucked.”

“Because...”

“Because Kinvara is a bitch. She told everyone at school that I’m her lesbian stalker and that I burned down her greenhouse.”

“You did burn down her greenhouse.”

Melisandre raised an eyebrow. Thoros sighed.

“Fine, we burned down her greenhouse,” he admitted, taking the last of his Advil with a gulp of water. “But she’s the worst. Why does she get to win? Change out of your light-blasted booty shorts and come to school.”

“I don’t have anywhere to sit at lunch.”

“Sit with me.”

“Clegane doesn’t let anyone sit at his table besides you.”

“Then we’ll sit at a different table.”

“There aren’t any other tables.”

“You can sit at my table,” Robert Baratheon chimed in from the sofa, where he was very much awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art (I say masterpiece, ASV says doodle) by the amazing AlsoSprachVelociraptor! You can check out all of ASV's Light the Way pics here: https://alsosprachvelociraptor.tumblr.com/post/185964961255 and I'm equally obsessed with all of them :)


	3. Melisandre (What a World 3 of 8)

“How much did he hear?” Melisandre spat at Thoros in Valyrian.

“Burn me if I know,” Thoros replied, also in Valyrian.

“Uh guys?” Robert asked. “Am I still drunk or are you speaking another language?”

“You’re still drunk,” Melisandre said flatly. “When did you wake up?”

“Just now. You two were loud enough to raise the dead.”

“It is our apartment,” Melisandre shot back.

“Easy princess, I meant no offense,” Robert gave her a charming grin, dark blue eyes twinkling roguishly. “It’s Thoros, right?” He turned to her brother. “Holy shit man, I owe you big.”

“Nah it’s all good,” Thoros shrugged, although he gave Melisandre an ‘I-told-you-so’ squeeze on the shoulder.

“Dude! I threw up on your couch! I don’t even know you and I threw up on your couch!” Robert laughed, a boisterously good-natured sound. He wasn’t the one who would be cleaning it after all. “And you go to my school?! Come on, you guys are definitely sitting at my table. And I’m getting you a new couch.”

“We couldn’t—“ Melisandre started.

“We’d love to,” Thoros grinned. “Melly get dressed, we have to catch the bus.”

“Bus?” Robert scoffed. “Fuck that, we’re walking back to the bar and I’ll drive us. I think I have a clean shirt in the trunk.”

Melisandre wavered. Kinvara seeing her pull up in Robert fucking Baratheon’s Bugatti. 

“Clothes, Melisandre,” Thoros tried to sound authoritative but only succeeded in sounding tired.

“I think princess looks fine as she is,” Robert wiggles his eyebrows lecherously. She glared at him and stormed to her room.

“Loving the view... slut,” he called from behind her.

With the door safely barred, she scrambled to the closet. They were so late as it is. Bus, ha. They had missed the bus ten minutes ago. She opened her wardrobe. One of the tenets of the temple of R’hllor was that the faithful had to wear red to symbolize their devotion. An unfortunate requirement given her and Thoros’ hair color. When they’d lived in Ibben, Thoros had had a red headed friend named Tormund who said gingers were kissed by fire. But he’d also claimed to have fucked a bear.

She grabbed one of her standard full length dresses, this one a deep burgundy. It hugged her curves but with the long sleeves and flowing skirt, a teacher would be hard pressed to explain why it was scandalous. It simply was.

She put on a thick gold choker and hurried back outside, stopping to grab Thoros’ red zip up hoodie from the bathroom floor. It was so stained that it was more brown than red, having served as Thoros’ primary concession to their religion for at least five years.

“Ready,” she said almost breathlessly. 

“Finally,” Thoros rolled his eyes. She shoved the hoodie into his chest hard, and he raised an eyebrow as he put it on.

“You clean up good princess,” Robert teased, as they headed out the door.

“Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you say princess.”

The boys snickered and Melisandre wanted to face palm. At least Robert did not seem to be registering the gritty courtyard and the suspicious stares of their neighbors. 

He seemed content instead to engage in a good-natured argument with Thoros about who had been winning a game of pool the night before when a drunk patron had interrupted by passing out on the table.

This discussion carried them through the walk to Hollow Hill, a grim bar that seemed to be hanging on to existence by a thread. The fact that they were willing to hire Thoros should have been sufficient warning.

And yet, as if the entire world conspired on behalf of the Baratheon heir, his Bugatti was untouched. Even her brother, who seemed determined not to notice the slightest thing out of ordinary about his new friend, whistled.

“That’s some car,” Thoros said reverently.

“You should have seen the one I crashed last year,” Robert laughed. Melisandre, who had been staring at her reflection in the midnight blue finish, looked up in annoyance. One of these cars on auction would fund their temple’s soup kitchen for a year. As she turned to shoot him a withering glare, she instead caught a full glimpse of him shirtless, his back turned toward her. It was... nice. Very nice. She looked away quickly, only to meet her brother’s mischievous smile. He had caught her staring. Fucker.

Clean polo shirt on, Robert dug the keys out of his pocket and unlocked the convertible. Thoros flipped the passenger seat back, and Melisandre lifted her dress in preparation to climb into the back but Thoros stopped her.

“Nah, let me. We can’t have your dress wrinkled when you make your grand exit,” he said. Melisandre thought of Kinvara’s face and smiled as they climbed in.

“Next stop, King’s Landing Prep!” Robert whooped, and with a terrifying screech, he peeled out of the parking lot.

Potential for dramatic exit or not, Melisandre quickly realized that putting Thoros in the back had been a terrible idea. Robert seemed to drive at one speed—fast—and kept turning to talk to Thoros behind him, one hand casually on the wheel. After the second mailbox was narrowly avoided, Melisandre could feel the perspiration beading on the back of her neck. It was decided. They were going to die in a fiery car wreck. Fire is the purest form of death, she reminded herself.

“It’s my second year with Pycelle for history, and it sucks balls,” Robert was saying to Thoros. “The man’s so old, he was probably around when dragons roamed the earth. I have Arryn for English, Selmy for math, Qyburn for science. Since it’s senior year, I figured screw electives, I just want to spend all my time playing football, drinking and fu—“

“School on the left,” Melisandre broke in. Without even looking, Robert spun the wheel hard. They roared past the drop off line and pulled into a spot in the senior parking lot, nearly taking out Oberyn Martell, who flipped them off. In her haste to exit the flying death trap, Melisandre ruined her glamorous entrance a wee bit, but once on her own two feet she managed to calm down. She smoothed her hair, and tried to look casually cool as she waited for Thoros to extricate himself. 

The fact that they were quite late meant that Kinvara and her posse were long gone, but there were enough stragglers hanging about for the gossip to reach her. Melisandre could feel dozens of eyes on her, people who had never noticed her, people who had noticed her but only thought of her as the crazy fire girl. Heh.

“Robert Baratheon!” A voice boomed. “It’s the second day of school, and you are late for the second time.” Barristan Selmy strode across the parking lot and inspected her chauffeur with his arms crossed. Despite the white hair, there was nothing terribly old seeming about Selmy. He had the crisp military posture and bearing of someone who has been through a fair amount of crap in life and some punk high schooler did not even begin to rate.

“Barristan!” Robert beamed. “My favorite teacher!”

“Save that shit-eating grin for Jon Arryn, it might work on him,” Selmy grumbled, but he sounded surprisingly mollified. “I’m going to let you go with a warning but I want you to look me in the eye and swear you’ll be on time tomorrow. Senior year is no time to be slacking.”

“Barristan, I’ll be on time. Tomorrow.” Robert responded promptly.

“Right. Well what are you lot just standing here for, GET TO CLASS!” Barristan sent the three of them scurrying toward the building.

“See you at lunch!” Robert called out, vanishing into his homeroom. Thoros and Melisandre exchanged looks.

“Don’t say it,” she warned him. He grinned and raised his arms like he was beginning a supplication to their lord.

“I TOLD YOU SO!” Thoros shouted instead, and then ducked into his own homeroom before she could throw something at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did it really take three chapters to get to school? Will the next chapter increase the pacing in any meaningful way? Do I ever stop talking in question marks? Tune in next time?


	4. Melisandre (What a World 4 of 8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick thank you to the people who have commented. It really encourages me to keep up with the posting! I also want to note that the characters are described as the narrator views them--as we start switching viewpoints in future arcs, characters will be described differently depending on POV. (In other words, I have a soft spot for Ser Friend Zone, even if Melisandre doesn't!)

Melisandre was in her seat before roll call, in time to hear murmured voices hush as she walked in. From the back of the classroom, she could feel Kinvara’s glare burning holes in the back of her skull. She kept her face impassive, but inwardly she felt triumphant. At least until she heard Kinvara’s sultry voice raised above the crowd.

“She probably slept with him, that skanky bitch....”

Somebody said something inaudible.

“Probably got tired of taking the bus to school and decided to put her talents to use,” Kinvara scoffed again, to a general tittering.

Her face didn’t so much as twitch, a calm mask. How could Kinvara hate her so much? What had she done? She had known that Kinvara had a nasty vindictive streak, but that had never bothered her last year when she wasn’t the target. Now, it felt like divine justice for staying silent. Still, she just had to weather the storm, let Kinvara find a new victim to torment. Bide her time until Kinvara’s guard was down. Best tread carefully Kinvara, Melisandre thought, doodling flames in the margin of her notebook. The night is dark and full of terrors.

Classes were a bore. She had English first period with Cressen, who hated her. Kinvara, who didn’t like the doddering fool any more than she did, was suddenly a brown-nosing little suck up, hanging on every wheezing word. Next period was chemistry with Hallyne. Things didn’t begin to get interesting until Advanced Foreign Language. 

King’s Landing Prep required all students to take two years of a foreign language, unless they could prove fluency. Melisandre and Thoros had been speaking Valyrian since they were born, so that had been easy. Ostensibly, Advanced Foreign Language let them practice conversational skills or do independent research on a language that Prep did not offer, but in practice it was an easy A for anybody who had grown up in Essos. The teacher, Jaqen H’gar, seemed to care very little what they did so long as they did not murder each other. Actually, he might not have cared even then. Last year, there had only been four students—herself, her brother, Varys Ragno and Illyrio Mopatis. Varys, probably as a result of blackmail, was popular. He had made it very clear that he considered Melisandre and Thoros’ presence to be distasteful and beneath him. So most classes were spent with Varys and Illyrio talking in one corner and Melisandre and Thoros talking in another, as Jaqen read a book. 

She had not had AFL yesterday. A shame, as it was one of her consistent favorites. 

This year, however, they had picked up a freshman. Melisandre mentally groaned when she saw who it was.

Jorah Mormont, the scrawniest of the many banes of her existence. Skinny, with his blond hair neatly parted on the side, like the dork that he was. And he had a scarf tied around his neck. Loser.

His accent labeled him as from the north of town, making him a Stark lackey. But Thoros had met him… somewhere? The port maybe? A bar seemed unlikely, given Jorah’s earnest goody-two-shoes-ness. He had still been in middle school last year, yet had an uncanny ability to turn up where he was least wanted (i.e. Melisandre’s presence), asking if she knew where Thoros was. As if she had installed some kind of tracking device on her wayward brother. It was a mystery to her why Jorah liked Thoros (who was many things, but not a goody two shoes), and it was a mystery to her why Thoros let Jorah tag along on his adventures. 

“Hi Melisandre!” The brat chirped. “Have you seen Thoros?”

“No. Mr. H’gar?” Melisandre waved her hand. Jaqen H’gar looked up from his book.

“A girl has a question?”

“Mr. H’gar, Jorah’s not from Essos, he can’t speak Valyrian, he shouldn’t be in this class,” she rattled off in one breath, tattling with little remorse. In times of crisis, drastic measures were necessary.

“A boy demonstrated fluency in… what was it?”

“Dothraki!” Jorah grinned.

“Yes, Dothraki. A boy may take the class.” Jaqen H’gar looked back at his book in clear dismissal. Melisandre glared at Jorah, who smiled back at her.

“Why do you know Dothraki?” She asked through gritted teeth.

“I learned it over the summer, so I could be in this class! I figured it was the only way I was going to share a class with Thoros. He’s a senior now, isn’t that cool?”

“Yes, his ability to not flunk his classes is… cool,” Melisandre stared at him. Why, lord? The one class Kinvara couldn’t ruin. And the lord had sent her… this. She vaguely recalled that he was from a neighborhood called Bear Island, but he reminded her less of a bear and more of a mewling puppy.

Thoros finally made his appearance, tucking what looked like a flask into his back pocket.

“Hi teach, sorry I’m late.”

“A boy can be neither late nor early in the eyes of the many-faced god, for all paths however long lead to the same place,” H’gar murmured without looking up.

“…yeah. Hey Melly, hey Jorah, what’s up?”

“I heard Robert Baratheon drove you guys to school!” Jorah blurted. Melisandre noticed that across the room, Varys’ ears had perked up. She gave Thoros a warning kick under the table.

“Yea—ouch! What the heck!?” Thoros glared at her. She jerked her head at Varys and Thoros rolled his eyes. “He did drive us to school. Guy has a cool car, right?” He grudgingly redirected the conversation away from the circumstances that had led them to encounter Robert. In addition to their school newspaper, Varys ran a notorious blind gossip site. Neither she nor Thoros needed to be featured in it. And they definitely didn’t need Robert to be featured in it and think one of them had squealed to Varys. This was a delicate balance… get some attention to piss off Kinvara, without getting enough attention to piss off anyone else.

“It’s AMAZING,” Jorah gushed. “Did you know that Ned and Lyanna Stark got Audis for their seventeenth birthdays? And Roose Bolton wanted an Audi too, but his dad said they couldn’t afford one. I heard Greatjon Umber and Rickard Karstark talking about it on the bus yesterday.”

He prattled on about various rich kids’ cars, even managing to draw Varys and Illyrio into the conversation. Apparently Varys considered Mormonts worth talking to. Interesting.

Or maybe Varys considered car gossip good fodder for his blog. Technically only seniors were allowed to drive to school, where they could park in the senior parking lot. The in-crowd used that as an opportunity to show off their spending power. Plus everyone knew that Cersei and Jaime Lannister had bribed Meryn Trant to give them his senior parking pass, even though they were only juniors.

When the bell rang for lunch, Melisandre packed her things slowly. Her first and last day of being popular was something to be savored. The rest of the class was long gone by the time she walked down the hallway. She dumped her bag at her locker, and noticed that someone had scratched ‘WHORE’ into the paint at eye level. Amateurs.

The cafeteria was a vast microcosm of their school, so naturally Melisandre detested it. At the center, four tables had been pushed together to form a kind of super-table where all the popular kids sat. The further from the center, the further removed from the circle of power you were. Kinvara and her gang were midway from the center to the door. Clegane, commandeering his own personal table through force of scowl, was in a far corner. Jorah, she noticed, had already claimed a seat in the first circle around the center table, at the northern table. The Starks were nominally in control of the table, but at present it was being presided over by Roose Bolton, his cold eyes like dirty chips of ice surveying the room.

Melisandre turned before their eyes could meet. That one was dangerous. She hurried to the kitchen to collect her tray and the daily slop they called a meal. 

On exiting, she hesitated once. Last chance to make a break for the library and live in quiet obscurity. 

“PRINCESS! Over here!” Robert shouted across half the room. Or not.


	5. Melisandre (What a World 5 of 8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet other characters! And the plot does not advance! Sorry in advance for the relative shortness of the chapter; I promised myself that no chapters would be less than 1000 words, but this cuts it pretty close. My chapters have been getting longer the longer I write the story, so reading it now is a little embarrassing... All I can say is that Chapter 6 will be a significant improvement!

She raised her chin and walked to the center table like she had every right to be there and was terribly unimpressed. Cersei and Jaime Lannister tilted their perfect blond heads, green eyes narrowed in skepticism. Elia and Oberyn Martell. Ned and Lyanna Stark. Kinvara used to joke that there were so many boy-girl twins at the center table because their filthy rich parents all got designer babies courtesy of IVF. Then the Tully sisters, their brother Edmure, Petyr Baelish, Varys, Mace Tyrell, Balon Greyjoy. And of course, directly in the center, Robert Baratheon, flanked by her brother. 

Of course there were no seats available, but Mace stood up smoothly on her approach and offered his own. His mother, Olenna, was King’s Landing Prep’s college advisor. The chairman of the board of Tyrell Agricultural Conglomerate had no need for the pittance a prep school paid—she just enjoyed watching the parents squirm as she held their children’s fate in her perfectly manicured hands. Melisandre never expected her son to acknowledge her presence, much less insist on her taking his seat while he ambled over to talk to Randyll Tarly.

“Thoros’ sister, I presume?” Cersei Lannister cooed, sugar sweet. “Such a distinctive hair color. And to wear a red dress? You’re really doubling down, aren’t you!” She laughed, and Varys, Petyr and the younger Tully girl joined in. Melisandre tilted her head appraisingly, noting her enemies’ faces. They were all followers except for Cersei, and the depth of Cersei’s antipathy remained to be seen.

“Thoros has just been telling us some charming stories of your childhood,” Jaime Lannister drawled. “Did you really live off nothing but seal blubber in Ibben? How rustic.”

Melisandre smiled tightly.

“It’s not that bad once you get used to it,” she said. Sure enough, when it became clear that they weren’t going to get a rise out of her, the Lannisters lost interest.

“Mace looks like he’s been eating nothing but seal blubber,” Cersei lowered her voice. Robert gave an uncharitable snort of laughter.

“Selmy is going to have a field day with him once practice starts up again. He’ll be running sprints till he pukes.”

“Why you all insist on playing that barbaric sport, I’ll never understand,” Oberyn yawned. Ned and Robert jumped in to argue, and the conversation mercifully spun away from her.

Now free to inspect her surroundings, Melisandre noted that Kinvara was positively fuming in the distance. Nearer to home, she noticed how Robert and Lyanna avoided direct eye contact, although they were polite enough to each other in conversation.

Lyanna had dark brown hair and striking grey eyes. Lithe and tomboyish, she was beautiful in a wild sort of way. Her stories were animated and hilarious, and Melisandre felt her lips twitching in spite of herself as Lyanna described one of her older brother Brandon’s misadventures. Her twin had red-brown hair, and he sat stolidly between Lyanna and Robert, as if determined to prevent the two from ever having to look at each other.

Thoros was sitting on Robert’s other side, engaging dainty little Elia Martell in one of his outrageous yarns. With curly black hair and big black eyes, she had been a study in contrasts last year when she had been dating silver haired Rhaegar Targaryen. She had never had any reason to be close to Robert, but at one point, their eyes met and she gave him a sad but sweet smile. Clearly, their shared humiliation had built some kind of friendship. She never looked at Lyanna either.

Beyond sat Oberyn Martell, studying Thoros with a sort of watchful amusement. Black haired and black eyed like his sister, he was clearly prepared to intercede if this foreigner got too impertinent. Melisandre reminded herself to tell her brother to leave Elia alone in the future.

Not that there would be a future. This was a one-time thing. Then they could go back to living in anonymity with the rest of the plebs. Where it was safe.

Petyr and Varys were talking in low voices, slightly removed from the group. Petyr was a sophomore, but he’d been one of those obnoxiously precocious students who had taken some advanced classes last year. Melisandre noticed how Lysa Tully, a freshman, was trying and failing to catch his eye across the table.

Catelyn Tully seemed more interested in Ned Stark, sending him a covert glance or two, but was taking care to politely talk to Cersei Lannister and Balon Greyjoy to disguise her interest. Meanwhile Edmure Tully was enthusiastically agreeing with anything that Jaime Lannister said. Jaime, with a sort of light malice, began making more and more outrageous statements, all to Edmure’s breathless rapture. Only when Cersei lightly touched Jaime on the arm—not even looking at him—did he suddenly abandon the sport and turn to talk to Varys and Petyr. 

Melisandre enjoyed watching the tiny fault lines emerge and disappear. Balon Greyjoy was clearly on the outs with the rest of the group. Cersei was the only one who bothered to include him, and he participated in her conversation out of a sort of sullen obligation, despite the fact that he would clearly rather be talking football with Robert, Ned and Oberyn. 

Meanwhile, Petyr had begun trying to get Catelyn’s attention, much to Lysa’s frustration. If Melisandre recalled correctly, many of his advanced classes last year had happened to be ones that Catelyn was also taking. Clearly that strategy had not yielded the desired for results. 

Mace finally returned to the group, dragging a chair, but he hung back from Robert and the Martells. Everyone knew he had been in Rhaegar’s circle last year. Edmure seemed anxious to please everybody and was succeeding in pleasing nobody. Melisandre thought he would get along rather well with Jorah Mormont.

When the bell rang again to signal the end of lunch, Melisandre felt an odd combination of disappointment and relief. She had met the school royalty. She had survived the experience. If they had not been impressed, at the very least they would leave her alone. Someone slut-sneezed as she walked out. If only she could say the same of Kinvara.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Spoilers for next time... Melisandre FINALLY meets Stannis!


	6. Melisandre (What a World 6 of 8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter that's actually plot and not world-building?! Madness! Let me know what you think of this chapter and fingers crossed you enjoy the appearance of two long overdue characters. Friends fans may notice an oblique reference to the greatest episode in that show's ten year run (because c'mon, Stannis would totally be Ross).

The rest of the day had been uneventful, and Melisandre came back to the apartment with a dull sense of victory. Another day done.

She was prepared to flop on the couch when she saw the greenish stain. With a groan, she pushed her way into her bedroom and flopped there instead. Homework felt unimportant right now. She didn’t know where Thoros was. At work or drinking or drinking at work. She knew one thing though, he would be cleaning that couch.

She closed her eyes, remembering her dream from the night before. Sleep was her constant comfort. What she wouldn’t give to do nothing but sleep.

She let her mind slowly sink into a half-slumber, waiting for it to turn off entirely. Her bed was comfortable and smelled like the lemon detergent they used. Like she was lying in one of the lemon groves in Lys when she was ten, and they had lived in a house on a hill over the water.

The buzzer to the apartment rang. Melisandre scowled and rolled over so her back was to the door. Probably some drug addict in withdrawal hitting all of the buzzers.

There was a three second pause and then it rang again. Thoros, locking himself out again? Well he could suck it, she had warned him a dozen times to stop leaving his keys all over the place.

A second three second pause and then it rang and didn’t stop ringing, the angry buzz filling her room.

“Fine I’m coming, you moron,” Melisandre shouted. “If we have to replace your keys, it’s coming out of your paycheck, not the money from Mom and Dad. I’m sick of eating lentil soup because we need to replace something that you broke, or lost or destroyed in a drunken rampage—” She opened the door.

A boy her age stood there. Closely cropped black hair, almost a military-style buzz, and frozen blue eyes. His eyes. For a second all the extraneous sounds—the buzzer and the shouting from the courtyard—and the extraneous thoughts—Kinvara and lemon groves and lentil soup—fell away. There was just him and her standing alone together.

“Thank you, not interested,” Melisandre said, and tried to slam the door in his face. It ricocheted off a sneaker he managed to wedge into the door frame. Shit. Why hadn’t she looked through the peep hole before opening the door. That was Thoros-level stupid. What to do with the creepy stranger half-way into her apartment.

It took her two seconds to sprint to the kitchen and grab a knife. The boy hadn’t moved from the door frame.

“Get lost, asshole,” she brandished the knife at him. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve scared you,” he began. His voice was monotone, disinterested.

“Do I look scared,” she snarled.

“I have come to supervise the delivery of a couch,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. “You are,” he glanced down at a notecard he held in his hand, “Melisandre Asshai?” 

Melisandre slowly lowered the knife.

“Who’s asking?”

“I do beg your pardon. I should have introduced myself,” the boy hadn’t moved from the doorframe. “My name is Stannis Baratheon, may I come in?”

And that is how Melisandre found herself making tea for Robert Baratheon’s younger brother, somebody that she hadn’t known existed.

“We aren’t very close I’m afraid. We don’t have much in the way of shared interests,” Stannis took a sip of tea. “But when I got home from school this afternoon, there was a message from a furniture company, saying they don’t deliver to this neighborhood.”

Melisandre narrowed her eyes, looking for any judgment as to her living situation. She didn’t find it.

“Fortunately, my friend Davos lives around here and owns a truck. He’s picking the couch up now, and should be here within an hour.”

“Thank you… Stannis,” Melisandre said slowly. “This is an awful lot of trouble for you to go to.”

Stannis gave a thin humorless smile.

“Oh, Robert will be reimbursing me for my troubles. And Davos could use the money. I must say, you don’t… seem like his usual type.”

Melisandre set her tea down hard.

“I did NOT sleep with your brother,” she glared at him. “My idiot brother found your idiot brother at a bar last night, and idiotically let him crash here.”

“Ah,” Stannis said. “I only thought since he drove you to school and had you at his lunch table…” 

“He drove us both to school! And we were both at his lunch table!” 

Stannis shrugged.

“I suppose I only noticed you.” 

From somebody else, this would have sounded like a compliment. But from this Stannis, it only sounded matter of fact and still profoundly disinterested. For some inexplicable reason, this irked Melisandre. She WAS interesting, damnit! 

“Do you expect me to be flattered?”

Stannis smirked.

“Hardly. Davos pointed you out. He said you stalked a girl and burned her greenhouse.”

Of course he did. She hated him already. Melisandre shook her hair out, the long curtain of dark red falling in waves and partially concealing her face so that Stannis would not see the twitch of hurt that passed across her features. Well if he was so determined to see a monster, she could give him one.

“Only one of those of things is true,” she replied, meeting his gaze coolly and daring him to flinch. He did not.

“I suppose you are Robert’s type after all then. He’s always had a thing for crazy.”

“Perhaps he’s not my type,” Melisandre crossed her arms.

Stannis gave her a sad smile.

“Robert is everybody’s type.”

There was a rattle from the table as his cell phone vibrated. He reached for it. She caught his hand, and startled, his eyes met hers again. His eyes were blissfully cold, like an ice bath. She held them firmly, savoring the shivers that crept down her spine.

“He’s not mine.” And oddly, the moment she said it, she realized it was true.

Stannis’ expression was unreadable. She could see the resemblance to Robert, but it was only a shadow, flickering in firelight. His face was narrower, sterner, the features sharper. Robert was made from clay and Stannis hewn from stone.

He gently removed his hand from hers, and picked up the phone.

“Stannis Baratheon.”

A voice on the other end.

“Don’t bother, nobody was at the front desk when I came in. Terribly lax security. I’ll come down and help you move it.” He hung up. 

“I’ll return shortly, Miss Asshai.”

“Melisandre.”

“Melisandre.”

Davos turned out to be a quiet boy with dull brown hair and dull green eyes. She would work up the energy to hate him later, when they were not wrestling one end of a sofa up a stairwell together. A stairwell with unusually tight turns. She had never noticed that before.

“Pivot,” Stannis was saying calmly, the other end of the sofa in his hands. “Pivot.”

Davos pulled and she pushed, and she was reminded why she despised physical activities.

“You’re nearly there,” Stannis said, “put a little more muscle into it.”

She and Davos exchanged a look. 

“Why don’t you go on three,” Stannis continued. “One—two—three!”

They both grunted with the effort and the couch popped free, promptly flattening Stannis. Melisandre tried to conceal her smirk.

“What floor do you live on?” Davos wheezed.

“Fourth,” Melisandre said glumly, craning her neck to look up the three remaining flights of stairs.

The three slowly and painfully made their way up the stairs. The couch was beautiful—minimalist modern maybe? From some interior design store where a footstool would be worth more than all of her worldly possessions. But each successive flight of stairs sapped her will to own it. Finally, they staggered on to her landing and plopped it down.

Melisandre fumbled for the keys in her pocket.

“I suppose I should be grateful that Robert doesn’t gift couches to everybody he spends the night with,” Stannis said drily.

“We didn’t spend the night together!” Melisandre shot him an annoyed glance as she checked her other pocket.

“Er, is it true that you, er…” Davos began to mumble, his face flushing a little. 

Melisandre patted her back pockets.

“What?” She snapped.

“Is it true that you like ladies?” Davos blurted. Melisandre stopped, and fixed him with a dark look.

“Yes. I also like men. If you see any, do let me know.”

Thoros entered the lobby three hours later. Melisandre knew it was him from the off-key singing. She lifted her head off the armchair of the couch, as she listened to him stumbling up the stairs. Stannis, sitting between her and Davos, looked at her, a spark of hope in his eyes. She nodded curtly.

When Thoros and his stupid red top knot appeared, he stopped. Raised both eyebrows. She knew how it looked. The three of them, her and two complete strangers, sitting on a couch outside their apartment.

“Where the fuck have you been?” She snapped.

“Working. What the fuck are you doing?” He shot back, although he didn’t sound particularly annoyed.

“Waiting. We’re locked out.” 

“Ah,” Thoros said, and even though his poker face was on, she knew he was laughing at her. “You should be more careful with your keys. It doesn’t do to leave them lying about.”

Melisandre gritted her teeth. She had given him this speech not three days ago.

“Fortunately, you seem to have picked up a pair of very dangerous bodyguards. Thank you, sers, for protecting my sister’s honor,” Thoros gave them a mock bow. “I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table. Well, beer and cereal at least. Depends what’s in the fridge. May I ask your names, good sers?”

“Stannis Baratheon. This is Davos Seaworth. I left my cell phone in your apartment,” Stannis said, blatantly unimpressed by Thoros’ high spirits.

“A pleasure,” Thoros beamed at them both as he unlocked the door. “The couch is from your brother then. Truly a man of honor and integrity.”

“Not really,” Stannis walked in the open door and retrieved his cell phone. Davos at least had the decency to look embarrassed at his friend’s rudeness, and helped Thoros lift the couch the rest of the way into the living room. Melisandre walked in behind them, trying to decide which of the three she was most annoyed at.

Stannis had slipped his phone in his pocket.

“Right, well we’re leaving,” he announced. “Davos?”

Davos scratched the back of his head sheepishly and looked at Thoros.

“I believe you made some mention of beer?”

Thoros grinned in victory.

“Davos!” Stannis spluttered, as Thoros opened the refrigerator and removed two cans. “You are under age!”

Davos shrugged. 

“Just think we worked hard and we deserve some refreshments,” he said, giving his friend puppy dog eyes.

“Beer Mel?” Thoros asked.

“Please.”

“Stannis?” The boy wavered, clearly torn between removing himself from this den of iniquity post-haste and not abandoning his friend.

Finally, with a sigh, he sat back down on the couch.

“Water.”

Melisandre popped the lid on her can, and savored how the sound made him flinch. Someone needed to remove the stick from this boy’s ass, and his cringing little friend wasn’t going to be the one to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art (I say masterpiece, ASV says doodle) by the amazing AlsoSprachVelociraptor! You can find all of ASV's Light the Way pics here: https://alsosprachvelociraptor.tumblr.com/post/185964961255/ and I'm equally obsessed with all of them :)


	7. Melisandre (What a World 7 of 8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done with this arc! (More of a prologue than an arc I suppose...) As always, a huge thank you to the people who take the time to give feedback. It's tremendously encouraging, and I'm still writing this story so I take your input seriously!

That night she did not dream of Kinvara. She dreamed of a too serious boy and what it might look like if he laughed.

At lunch, she decided to sit with Stannis and Davos. 

It hadn’t happened quite like that. She was considering it, that was all, scanning the cafeteria to see where in the long night they sat anyway, when she saw Thoros, sitting at Clegane’s table alone. Was Clegane sick? She hadn’t been nervous about commandeering a place at Stannis’ table, not exactly, but maybe it could wait a day? She took a step in Thoros’ direction.

“I hope you’re not going where I think you’re going,” a voice rumbled behind her. She did not jump—that would be so undignified—and she did not gulp, but she might have swallowed once. Or twice.

Sandor Clegane was her year, but he was the second largest student at their school. Close to the six and a half foot mark, he had stringy brown hair that was grown long in a futile attempt to cover the hideous burn scars that covered about a third of his face. Those were courtesy of his older brother, the first largest student at their school. Sandor wore a black leather jacket, and had a deep brooding stare. He might not have been a quite as scary as his brother, but he was plenty scary.

Melisandre, however, was constitutionally incapable of backing down. She lifted her chin haughtily and declined to answer.

“I don’t think I would hit a woman,” Sandor said musingly. “But I would definitely hit her obnoxious cunt of a brother.” 

Melisandre felt her gaze shifting imperceptible to the corner, where Thoros was struggling to open a milk carton.

“What do you say girl,” Sandor leaned in, his breath hot and rank against her ear. “Shall we find out if your fire god really loves him?”

So yes, that is how Melisandre finally spotted Stannis and Davos, a full one hundred eighty degrees from Kinvara’s table, at about the same middle distance between center and wall. An auspicious location.

It was just them at their table, and they glanced up when she sat down.

“May I sit here?” 

“You may. I don’t see why you would want to,” Stannis looked at her over his brown bag lunch.

“Were you just talking to,” Davis glanced over his shoulder and dropped to a whisper “the Hound?”

Melisandre was not clear how this nickname came about. Possibly because he was dog ugly.

“Perhaps I was. What of it?” She looked at Davos dismissively.

“I know you’re not from here, but you should stay away from him. And definitely stay away from his brother,” Davos said earnestly. “Where I’m from, in Flea Bottom, there’s all kinds of stories about them, and none of them good.”

Melisandre, who considered Flea Bottom to be even worse than her neighborhood, gave Davos an appraising look. She hadn’t realized he was a scholarship kid, and the thought made her feel slightly more charitable towards him.

“Are you in a cult?” Stannis asked abruptly. 

“What?” Melisandre frowned.

“Davos says that you and your brother are in a cult and that’s why you always wear red. He says that everybody in your apartment complex worship a fire demon.”

Charitable thoughts towards Davos vanished. The boy in question was wincing. As he should be.

“My temple,” her voice was arctic cold, “helps low income members of our community. Our apartment complex is one such project. We believe that people have an intrinsic value beyond how much money is in their pocket. And yes, we do wear red. If that makes us cult, I am in a cult ser.”

“Do you worship a fire demon?” Stannis asked. She realized he was genuinely curious, so she tried to unwind the malice that had been coiling in her since this conversation began. Deep breaths.

“We worship the one true god, the Lord of Light. He is our shield against the darkness, the bulwark against the return of the long night. Fire serves a ceremonial purpose in our religion, as it does in many others. He is not a god of fire, and he is certainly not a demon,” she said firmly. 

“Oh,” Stannis said, and seemed completely content with the answer. Davos still looked skeptical, but what did she care. Stannis was such a puzzle. She didn’t think he realized that he was rude. He was just straightforward and confused by why the world wasn’t. 

“You could always come to a service with me,” she said slyly, just to see his reaction. He stopped eating his sandwich, which had been cut with military precision.

“You know, that might be interesting,” Stannis replied, looking thoughtful. Davos squirmed.

“How do you like the couch?” He asked, clearly seeking a change of subject.

“A great deal,” Melisandre allowed the shift in topics. “It was nice of your brother,” she admitted to Stannis grudgingly. Although he had owed them the cost of a cleaning at the least.

“Robert is nice to his friends,” Stannis agreed, a trace of resentment clouding his features.

“He considers us friends? We just met,” Melisandre pursed her lips.

“Dunno about you. Your brother, probably. They are very... alike.” His tone of voice made it clear this was not a compliment.

“What about us?” Melisandre leaned forward, knowing the scoop of her dress gave him an ample view of her cleavage. She would get to this boy yet. “Are we friends?” She purred. Was that a hint of a blush she saw?

“We just met,” Stannis mumbled her own words back at her, still blushing. A real smile lighted her face and for a moment she felt just... happy.

“I want to do a reading,” she announced, grabbing Thoros in the hall after lunch. “Tonight, find Anguy if you’re low.”

“I’m scrubbing the Temple stairs with a toothbrush from six until nine,” Thoros said. She glanced at him suspiciously, wondering it that was a joke. He met her gaze, his face blank. Only a tightness around his eyes revealed that he was serious and annoyed.

“What did you do?”

“Someone reported me for foul language. I got the voicemail this morning. It’s bullshit, nobody gets written up for this stuff but me.”

Melisandre tried to quell the roil of unease she felt whenever she thought about Thoros and their temple. Still, a toothbrush wouldn’t kill him. When she was eleven and he was thirteen, the temple in Norvos had strapped him with the buckle end of a belt for stealing food from the kitchens. He still had the scars. She wondered if he thought about it often. She did, at least when she thought about their parents. They had done nothing, said nothing. Maybe that was the year she had decided she didn’t need them. “I guess you’d better start watching your language then,” she shrugged with assumed nonchalance.

“Fuck you,” he said.

“That’s the spirit. See you at the fire pits at ten?”

“Yeah.”


	8. Melisandre (What a World 8 of 8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The last chapter of the first arc! Thank you so much to the readers who have left kudos and reviews--I know my story is light on Starks and Targs, but I'm really happy you enjoy it anyway.

No self-respecting community of R’hllor would be without a fire pit, and their apartment complex had many. She and Thoros liked to use the one furthest to the east, on the edge of the temple property where nobody ever wandered by. Maybe because it was far and inconvenient, maybe because there was nothing beyond but the dark of the interstate underpass.

Melisandre found she got the clearest visions there. She built the fire as she waited for Thoros, let the hungry flames lap the night sky. They were voracious in their ambition, these flames. They wanted to consume the world. She knew the feeling.

“Evening,” her brother flopped down next to her, placing a six-pack of beer between them. On top was a baggie from Anguy. 

She smiled, ignored the beer, began to roll a joint with deft fingers. Drugs were not a vice for either of them. Thoros preferred his drinking and Melisandre had too much self-control for vices, she liked to think. But to get a good reading, you had to be really really baked. It was known.

She took a deep puff, kept it, felt the smoke rolling through her brain before she expelled it through her nose. Thoros was making rings on the other side of her, watching them float into the sky. There was companionable silence while they waited for the weed to have its effect. It was strong, Anguy was better than whomever Thoros had been using in Pentos. Distantly, she heard Thoros crack a can of beer and slurp it, the sound burbly like a creek.

“How was temple?” She asked finally. Pause. On this topic, words were heavy between them. They didn’t see eye to eye, maybe they never would. 

“I’m so tired of it,” Thoros said slowly. “Doesn’t it bother you, those hypocrites? Acting like some liver spots and fifty years of chastity means they can shit on people?”

“They hear our Lord better than we do.” 

“Not better than you.” 

Melisandre shifted uncomfortably. The Lord had always spoken exceptionally clearly to her. She rarely told anyone but Thoros of her visions. Her parents had gotten too interested, and even as a child she had known not to trust them.

“The temple teaches us self-discipline,” she reminded him. “It’s not a bad skill. You could use more of it.”

“The temple teaches us to be miserable and be thankful that we’re miserable. I don’t think our Lord minds if I’m happy, Melisandre,” Thoros sighed.

“No,” she said pensively. “But do you have to leave to be happy? What am I going to do without you?”

She realized with a start that she was quite high if she was saying this out loud. Thoros finished his beer, crumpled the can, tossed it in the fire.

“I’m not leaving you,” he said quietly. 

“You’re leaving the temple.”

“Does it have to be the same thing?”

“They won’t let me talk to you if you leave, you know that,” she felt a surge of anger. Anger that he would make her choose. Anger that he had to be so damn understanding about her choice.

Another pause. She could hear the cars on the interstate, whooshing by with monotonous regularity. Did the cars ever see them, watching from the darkness?

“It’s not for a long time. Till you graduate, at least,” Thoros said finally. He cracked another beer. That would be the end of the discussion. On this matter at least, his easy-going amiability was surface-deep.

Melisandre watched the flames, willed them to make a message for her. She shouldn’t have talked to him of that, didn’t want to cloud her brain with that. She wanted a vision of the boy made of stone, the boy with eyes of ice. She had never seen Kinvara in her flames. A bad sign that. Maybe the Lord had been warning her.

The flames seared her eyes, she wanted to blink away tears, but she held her focus, let the moisture dry on its own. Abstract shapes in the fire, meaningless gibberish. She willed the tongues of fire to speak clearly.

“What are you scrying for?” Thoros asked.

“A boy,” she replied absently, and then flushed when she heard him laugh.

“Scrying for love? Who are you and what have you done with my sister,” he teased.

“It’s not for love! I just had a feeling he was important.”

“Well why shouldn’t it be for love,” Thoros shrugged cheerfully, taking another drink. “As I said, I don’t think our Lord minds if we’re happy.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Melisandre admitted huffily.

“Nah, come on, I’ll do it too. Why shouldn’t we get to know who we fall in love with?”

He took another hit off his joint, perhaps trying to catch up to her, and stared into the fire with a look of concentration, beer forgotten. Melisandre felt a pang of affection. Don’t leave me.

The flames shifted.

It was Stannis, cradled in her arms, he was bleeding from the chest. The blood seeping through his clothes, an ever growing stain of darkness, and above it, his face pale as snow.

“Don’t leave me,” he said, and her reflection in the fire kissed him. “Never.”

She waited for more, uncertainly, but nothing further came. What was that? Had she killed him?! They had... kissed. Did that mean if she pursued him, she would be condemning him to death? That was ridiculous. They were in high school. High schoolers didn’t die. Images were often metaphors, so a metaphorical death? 

Suddenly there was an immense pop from the fire, and Thoros jolted backwards as if stung.

“You saw something?” Melisandre asked hopefully, more to distract herself from the disturbing image she had seen than because she held any high hopes for Thoros’ reading. He occasionally saw things but they were so fragmented or symbolic that they never figured out what the images meant until after the fact.

“Er yeah,” Thoros admitted reluctantly, rubbing his eyes to clear them.

“And?”

“...I got struck by lightning” he said finally. Melisandre gave a snort of laughter that was pure relief. Scrying often yielded absurd results. The future was an ever-changing uncertainty and even when you got real answers, they were so muddled or abstract that they were essentially meaningless. She had seen Stannis, which meant he was important and would be in her future. That was the take away. No doubt there was some adversity or life-changing event they would face together. Stannis was as likely to die as Thoros was to get struck by lightning.

“Stop laughing!” Thoros threw a crushed can at her. “It scared the shit out of me! What the fuck is that supposed to mean for my love life?!”

“Something shocking,” Melisandre said, and permitted herself a smirk when Thoros groaned at the bad pun. “I dunno, love at first sight maybe? That seems like a reasonable read.”

“Maybe this is just a bad batch of weed,” Thoros said dubiously, inspecting the near-empty baggie as if he would be able to tell. 

“Maybe,” Melisandre thought about the kiss she had seen and blushed.

“What did you see then?”

“Nothing,” Melisandre said and the lie rolled lightly off her tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's for What a World, folks! As a side note, I like my stories to have a little supernatural, but I've made an effort to write this world so it can be read both ways. Maybe they're seeing visions, maybe they're high, idk! Next up: A NEW POV! Any guesses?


	9. Thoros (Robert’s Rager 1 of 6)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the second arc! Featuring: points of view from all main characters, two meet cutes and one corny title. (Seriously if you have any suggestions...) Your input on keeping the different character voices distinct and true to life is appreciated :)

When the bell rang to signal the end of class and the end of the day, Thoros was already halfway out the door.

“MR. ASSHAI!” Selmy barked, and he seemed quite peeved about something, so Thoros politely waved and increased the speed of his exit.

He had work from five to ten, which gave him enough time to get the bus home, drop off his crap, and then walk to the bar. Five hours of washing dishes (or bouncing guests with Clegane if he was lucky) and then the rat infested sewer that the bar called a kitchen would be closed for the night and he could start drinking in earnest.

He got a row on the bus to himself, probably courtesy of his red hoodie. King’s Landing Prep seemed to give the followers of R’hllor a wide berth. Rather smart of them. He stretched out to take up the whole row and flicked the hood up. It would be rude not to make use of the Lord’s gifts.

Melly was not on the bus. She was probably getting a ride home with Rob’s brother and his Flea Bottom friend. He had seen the way she looked at Rob’s bro. Like he was a riddle she hadn’t quite hacked. He wished her taste in partners wasn’t so horrible. Kinvara had been a complete nightmare, stuck-up little princess type who thought she was edgy because she smoked cigarettes when the elders weren’t looking. Stannis Baratheon seemed like an improvement in that regard, but Lord of Light, he was dour.

But there was nothing to be done, Thoros thought as he exited the bus at his stop, blithely stepping over a weak attempt to trip him on the way out. Melly would do what she wanted to do in her disconcertingly self-sufficient way. She could bend reality to her fucking will, his little sister, and he had long accepted that the best thing to do was stay out of the way.

He trudged up the steps of their fourth-floor walk up and dumped his backpack on the vomit couch, as they now called it. It had thwarted two attempted cleanings by him, so he had finally resorted to the age old method of flipping the cushion. Melisandre had claimed the clean couch.

On the way out, he checked their grocery list to see if there was anything he could lift from the kitchen at work. Alas, stale peanuts were not on the menu.

His parents would have been shocked at the diligence with which he applied himself to washing dishes in the sketchiest bar on this side of Flea Bottom. Occasional theft of produce aside (and didn’t everyone take from work?), this was the longest he’d held a job in his entire life. And not even a cool job like being a real bartender.

But, he thought, as he took the stairs down two at a time and ambled past the front desk (unmanned, per usual), this was all in service of a greater goal. Freedom. Complete freedom from the fucking red temple. As always, he sent a quick mental apology to the Lord of Light, who he mostly believed in. But the guy had shitty middle management, and Thoros was out.

He gave a rock a hard kick into a parked car, as the neighborhood got progressively grimmer.

Extricating from the red temple was not easy. You kind of had to do a disappearing act, because they had a habit of ‘re-educating’ recalcitrant members who seemed on the verge of doing a runner. Thoros had met one, and zombie didn’t even come close to describing it. But people totally did leave. And yeah, their families were supposed to act like they were dead, but his pal Tormund from Ibben had an older sister who had left and kept in touch. Online there were networks, stuff that gave advice, just people talking about their experiences. The general consensus was that you could see your family after as long as you were careful and trusted them.

One thing that was absolutely necessary was cash though. He had a plan—alright he had a sketch of a plan—but it involved saving up as much money as humanly possible over the next three years. They had their apartment rent-free until Melly graduated. And he wanted to see his little sister walk at her high school graduation. Then it was gone baby gone, find some studio in Flea Bottom, find another job in another bar, go to night classes. He wanted to be a cop, he thought. Eventually. Help the little guy, fuck some people up.

But first. He walked in the door of Hollow Hill, and had to pause while his eyes adjusted to complete darkness.

It was empty, aside from Sandor behind the bar, watching television.

“Where’s Lem?” Thoros asked, the surly bartender not in evidence. Clegane shrugged.

“Is Harwin back there already?” Thoros tilted his head toward their kitchen. Clegane shrugged and turned the volume up on the television.

“I do so enjoy our talks,” Thoros yawned as he walked through the swinging doors. Harwin was indeed in the kitchen, listening to the radio.

“Can I have a beer?” Thoros asked hopefully.

“Are there any customers?”

“No.”

“Knock yourself out,” Harwin slouched in his seat.

Regulars petered in gradually. It was a Thursday night after all. Soon enough, the grill was sizzling and Harwin was barking orders as if he were Guy Fieri and Thoros was his friggin’ sous-chef instead of the dish washer that he was paid to be.

It was while he was trying to keep ten burgers and two hot dogs from burning on the grill as Harwin viciously diced onions like they had personally offended him that Clegane stuck his head in.

“Thoros, your girlfriend is here, again. Tell him if he breaks another glass, I’m going to feed him the shards.”

Thoros eyed the grill speculatively.

“Don’t you dare,” Harwin looked up from his onions, brandishing the knife.

“Smoke break!” Thoros said cheerily, and hurried to the front.

Lem had finally made an appearance, and was glaring at Robert Baratheon with undisguised loathing, as he slid beers to customers as fast as he could pour them. The bar was packed two deep, which Thoros had never seen, although it quickly became apparent that Robert was to blame.

“Another round on me!” Robert shouted and the crowd cheered.

“Hey dude,” Thoros slung an arm around him, pushing a broken glass out of the way and replacing it with a can of Coors Lite.

“Thoros!” Robert whooped. “I always find you here!”

“Right?” Thoros had to grin. This guy was the best. When drunk, he seemed incapable of remembering that Thoros worked here, treating each encounter as some kind of joyful serendipity.

“I came to invite you to a party!” Robert swung his arms wide, as if he were including the whole bar in the invite. Thoros dove to catch another glass.

“Epic,” he said agreeably, replacing the glass significantly further away from his friend.

“It will be! My parents are out of town this weekend. I’m inviting everybody, I’m getting a keg, everything will be perfect.”

“Who’s everybody?” Thoros asked. Harwin had appeared in the galley doors and was glaring murderously at him. He shot a pleading look at Clegane, who only shook his head with a smirk. “Actually, why don’t we talk in the kitchen?”

“Everybody is everybody! The Stormlands crew for sure, Ned, Oberyn, Jaime, Cersei, Catelyn...” Robert rambled as Thoros tugged him into the kitchen and sat him in Harwin’s chair by the radio. One dog and six burgers appeared charred beyond recognition. Thoros rolled his eyes. Would it have killed Harwin to pick up a spatula. Shrugging, he scraped the remains off the grill and plopped them into buns. Heavy on the ketchup, and these animals wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

“Is Elia Martell coming?” He asked hopefully. Lord of Light, that girl was hot. Far too good for him, obviously, but he could at least admire her aesthetically. From an aesthetic perspective, he wondered what she was like in bed.

“Ooh is that a hot dog?” Robert reached for the remaining dog on the grill and Thoros had to tackle him before he burned his hand off.

“Fine, fucker, keep it for yourself,” Robert pouted, looking like a giant toddler.

“I will thanks,” Thoros said drily, getting up as he smelled yet another burger burning.

“Elia doesn’t go out much, girl is a total bookworm,” Robert continued their conversation calmly as if the thread had never been dropped. Elia in the library. Elia leaning over a desk in the library...

“Oberyn’s side piece Ellaria will be there though. Wait till you see her,” Robert waggled his eyebrows. “Curves in all the right places. And speaking of sexy...”

“No,” Thoros said, right as Robert said, “Your sister is totally invited.”

“Fine,” Robert groaned. “I just wanna know if she’s red all the way...” Thoros flicked a spray of hot grease at him.

“Fuck!” Robert jumped back, tripping over his chair and landing hard on his butt.

Positive and negative feedback. That’s how they trained bears in Ibben.

“I miss Lyanna,” Robert sighed from the floor.

“I know buddy.” Thoros said. In the two weeks that they had been drinking companions, there had not been a night that Robert hadn’t mentioned her. Melisandre had also acted like it was Romeo and Juliet, a doomed love story for the ages. That girl could turn a stubbed toe into a five act tragedy. From Thoros’ own limited interactions with Lyanna, she seemed like trouble. Fun, but the worst kinds of trouble often were.

“I told Ned she could come too, but she won’t because it’s still so fucking weird between us. I don’t understand why we’re not together. I forgave her for the cheating, it was a mistake, but she still loves him! Did you know they’re still dating? Ned says she takes the bus down to Dorne on weekends to see him.”

Him being Rhaegar Targaryen, a man that Thoros had never met. Frankly he sounded like a tool. But probably not the demonic harbinger of doom that Robert made him out to be.

“They don’t even fit together! Lyanna’s all wild and free-spirited, and Rhaegar was like the most uptight prick of all time. Except Stannis maybe,” Robert laughed and flung his empty can at Thoros who let it bounce off his head.

“What’s Stannis’ er... deal?” He asked, hoping he wasn’t offending Robert. He needn’t have worried.

“If you figure it out, let me know,” Robert grumbled. “Or Renly’s. Little prissy pants. You can like guys without liking ballet. You know what I mean?” Thoros, who had never met Renly, nodded sagely.

“It’s not like I haven’t fucking tried. We’re just oil and water and like a third thing that doesn’t mix with either oil or water. Whatever, I have their backs, I just wish they wouldn’t make it such an ordeal. Not like Ned. Ned is my true brother,” Robert suddenly twisted, his mood swinging from glum to ebullient. This one wasn’t built to be down for long. Unlike a certain younger brother that a certain younger sister had to find so fascinating.

“Let’s find Ned!” Robert jumped to his feet.

“Er I still have work for...” Thoros glanced at his watch. “Two hours?”

“No way! Where do you work?”

Thoros grinned and waved his spatula airily. “Around.”

“Well you gotta come to this party I’m having this weekend! At my place, I’m getting a keg. It’s going to be perfect!”

“Epic,” Thoros laughed as they came full circle. If only all problems were as easy to solve as Robert.


	10. Melisandre (Robert's Rager 2 of 6)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Melisandre Davos bonding before we accelerate into the plot. The next two chapters feature two more POVs, two meet cutes... Who's up next??? Thank you so much for the reviews and the kudos--it's infinitely reassuring to know that someone out there is reading this!

“Robert is having a party tonight,” Stannis sighed heavily. “It’s going to be a nightmare.”

Melisandre tilted her head quizzically as Davos gave Stannis a sympathetic pat on the back.

“What’s wrong with a party?” Kinvara had had a couple, and they were always fun. She could only imagine a party on Robert Baratheon’s scale.

“A party fills my house with Robert’s friends,” Stannis grumbled, neatly cutting his PB&J. “Sycophants and lackeys, people who use him for his popularity or his generosity, or worse, the other kids as popular as he is. They don’t even like him, they’re all just obsessed with maintaining their status. Would you want to come home to Jaime Lannister sneering at you?”

“So don’t go home. We can go to my place and order pizza,” Melisandre shrugged. Davos’ face brightened, as if he had been included in that invitation.

Stannis only shook his head.

“If I’m not there, they’ll trash the house, and then we’ll both be in trouble. I always get blamed for Robert’s messes.”

“Then there’s only one thing to do,” Melisandre said solemnly. Stannis looked at her hopefully.

“We all must go to this party and have a good time,” she announced. His face fell.

“Cute,” he snarked. And even though he meant it sarcastically, Melisandre’s heart fluttered a little. 

When the bell rang, she drifted back along the hallway. Stannis always strode with purpose, so quickly outpaced her and Davos. Which was good. She had been meaning to talk to him.

Left to her own devices, she would not have chosen to be friends with Davos. He had a certain mouse-like timidity to him that she found unappealing. She respected people who followed the rules because their honor demanded it, like Stannis or Ned Stark. She respected people who ignored the rules, because they rejected the phony pretense of authority that their school lorded over them. People like herself. She even grudgingly respected people like Robert, who broke rules out of self-interest, but did it so blatantly and unconcernedly that nobody could call him coward.

Davos though… he broke rules with one eye over his shoulder. God forbid he get caught. Just because a school gave you a scholarship didn’t mean they owned you. Melisandre tossed her hair over her shoulder. 

This had nothing to do with the fact that Davos had clearly disliked her from day one. His mistrust was a constant, although he’d stopped warning Stannis once he realized that Stannis would just turn around and repeat his warning to Melisandre.

Still, beneath that infernal mousiness was a loyal friend. Melisandre liked loyalty. And she could sense that when it came to Stannis, there was very little that Davos would not do for him.

So he had to be co-opted. Not immediately of course, but a cessation of hostilities seemed an appropriate first step.

“Why does Stannis hate Robert?” She asked him casually. She already had a good sense of why they disliked each other, but it seemed as good an ice-breaker as any.

“More like they don’t get along. Hate’s a strong word,” Davos frowned. Internally, Melisandre was amused. Hatred had always come easily to her.

“Why don’t they get along?”

“They’re close in age and Robert always overshadowed him. His parents’ favorite. All the stuff with football. Meanwhile Stannis always works harder, gets better grades, never gets in trouble like Robert and his parents don’t really have time for him. He’s the one who cares about the family company. Robert just wants to play professional football and coast on his family’s money. I wouldn’t even say Robert’s a bad guy. He doesn’t mean to be the center of attention. He just is. Sometimes the shadow is darkest right outside the spotlight, I guess.”

Melisandre rather liked that turn of phrase. She liked shadows.

“And why do you hate me?” She sprung her actual question on him.

“Why are you so interested in Stannis?” Davos asked bluntly. So the mouse had a little lion in him after all. Well, she had expected this. He was a man after all, and men could be manipulated.

“You’ve heard the rumors about me,” Melisandre looked at him. He blushed, but did not deny it.

“It’s not easy moving to another country your freshman year of high school, you know?” Melisandre hugged herself, spoke slowly, feigning some distress. And Davos, poor, sweet Davos, looked stricken.

“It’s been a year. I don’t have friends. People tell lies about me. Stannis seems like the kind of person who judges people on how he finds them, not on what he hears,” Melisandre trained her big blue eyes on him. Unlike you, was the unspoken accusation. “I guess I wanted to spend time with somebody who could see me for who I am. But I’m starting to wonder if that was a mistake. You always seem unhappy when I’m around.”

“I’m just trying to look out for him,” Davos said hurriedly. “I didn’t mean for it to come across like that. He had a girlfriend last year, and well, it didn’t end very well.”

“What happened?” Melisandre asked, her shy little girl act dropping as her interest became piqued.

“Selyse Florent. You can see her around. She liked the status of having a Baratheon boyfriend. Kept pushing him to be more like Robert, claim more for himself. They had a blow up fight about him not sitting at the center table last year and he dumped her.”

Melisandre mentally noted the name Selyse Florent. Let’s see how she liked ‘WHORE’ scratched on HER locker. If she did it right, maybe Kinvara would get the blame.

“But you’re right. I haven’t been very fair to you. Let’s start over. It’s nice to have someone to help me when Stannis gets too... Stannis,” Davos gave a small smile, almost conspiratorial. And against her better judgment, Melisandre smiled back.

“So who is coming to the party, aside from center table?” Melisandre asked.

“Pretty much most of the kids in the school from Stormlands,” Davos shrugged. Stormlands was a large wealthy neighborhood in the east of King’s Landing. Melisandre had already gathered that nobody was from King’s Landing if they could say they were from one of the seven or eight neighborhoods that belonged to the center table clique. Clegane was from Westerlands, for example, which meant that other students from Westerlands would have his back against non-Westerlanders. As if Clegane would ever need help in a fight. And if he had some kind of problem, he could bring it up with the Lannisters, who basically ran the Westerlands crew. 

One more reason why it sucked to be from Essos. The idea of Varys lifting a finger to help her was laughable.

Robert Baratheon was the unofficial leader of Stormlands, she knew that. She supposed when he graduated next year, Stannis would take over. That was an odd thought. Apparently running the social calendar was part of being center table rep. Or maybe Robert just threw Stormlands parties because he was Robert. She certainly couldn’t imagine Clegane being invited to the Lannisters’.

“Who’s from Stormlands?” She asked.

“Uh I guess Jon Connington graduated, so he won’t be there. Robin Peasebury. Penrose. Clifford Swan. Eldon and Lomas Estermont. The Durrandons, all two hundred and fifty of them. Dondarrion if he’s out of hospital. Mylenda Caron. Brienne Tarth. Me,” Davos gave a sheepish laugh.

“Flea Bottom is part of Stormlands?” Melisandre asked confusedly.

“According to the map. Red Hill probably is too. Even if it’s not, you can always say it is. Robert and Stannis wouldn’t care, and the real Stormlanders don’t either as long as you don’t try and sit at the main table,” Davos shrugged. The main table being the table in the first circle around center table where the real Stormlanders sat. Much like Jorah Mormont could sit at the North’s main table.

“My neighborhood’s called High Hill,” Melisandre scowled.

“Not in Flea Bottom. Everybody knows it’s run by your lot with their fires and all the red,” Davos looked at today’s crimson dress pointedly. Melisandre gritted her teeth and reminded herself that the Lord of Light’s plans included everyone, including small-minded idiots. 

“Well I’m not spending my first Baratheon party moping in a corner,” Melisandre changed the subject. “We need to get Stannis drunk.” 

“We?” Davos raised his hands. “First, it can’t be done. Second, I’m not taking the blame for his first hangover.”

“It can be done. Just follow my lead and don’t mess anything up.”

Davos’ mouth dropped in outrage and Melisandre gave him one of her patented confident and ever so slightly mysterious smirks.

That night found Melisandre laying out her twelfth potential outfit. For the first time since their schism, she missed Kinvara as a friend rather than a romantic partner. Somebody who could look at all of these identical red dresses and pull out the right one, someone who could braid her hair and lend her earrings. Just another girl to giggle with.

The idea of calling and asking Stannis which dress to wear made her laugh. She turned back to her bed and eyed all twelve dresses critically. Did they have to be so... red? There was no rule that wearing red meant wearing red head to toe. She glanced at a slinky black dress, hidden in the back of her closet, that had a single red sash tied around it. She had bought it with Kinvara at a night market somewhere in Flea Bottom, and had felt terribly rebellious at the time. She had never worn it.

Half-assing their religion was for people like Thoros who were congenitally incapable of taking life seriously. If Stannis followed the Lord of Light, he would definitely wear all red all the time. He probably looked good in red, she thought, semi sulkily.

She shut the closet door firmly, and then turned once more to the task at hand. She went with the darkest red, which was thigh-skimming, sleeveless and tight. Conservative cut up top, but it hardly needed to be otherwise, the way it clung to her curves.

She brushed out her hair into long tumbling waves and idly wished that her skin wasn’t so pale. She looked like a ghost who had tragically died in a nightclub.

She wore her usual choker and some gold bangles on her wrist that jingled pleasingly when she made dramatic gestures.

Davos had promised to pick her and her mooch of a brother up at 6:30. The party started at 7, and Davos explained that Stannis was a stickler for punctuality. Of course he was. With a nod to her reflection, Melisandre swept into the common room and leaned against the nice couch.

“Are you ready?” She called.

“I’m not you, of course I’m ready,” Thoros said from the kitchen where he was eating dry cereal.

She looked at him. He was wearing exactly what he had worn to school. Jeans and his oversized red hoodie.

“You can’t wear that,” she said flatly. Thoros raised his eyebrows.

“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” He asked mildly. “Can you even sit in that dress?”

Melisandre crossed her arms.

“It’s not for sitting. When was the last time you washed that?”

“It’s an outer layer, it doesn’t need to be washed.”

“It does when you wear it every day!” Melisandre’s nose wrinkled as she inspected the stained cotton. “Is that a blood stain by your elbow?”

“No...” Thoros twisted the sleeve so the stain was no longer visible.

“Go change!” Melisandre pointed to his room, and her bangles clinked authoritatively. Ugh, sometimes she could see why her parents had been so disinterested in being parents. “Wear your red feast day jacket.”

Her phone buzzed.

“And hurry! Davos is downstairs!”

They were not late to the Baratheon manor, even though Thoros insisted on pre-gaming in the truck, and Davos hadn’t exactly pushed the flask away, even though he was driving.

In fact, as she had silently predicted to herself, theirs was the first car. It was an enormous driveway leading straight down an oak lined passage and out the window she could see a perfectly manicured lawn beyond. The house was large and built of weathered stone, as if it had been here for generations. Perhaps it had. She noticed that it appeared to be all of a piece, which was disconcerting. Try as she might, her eye could not find the seam where two stones had been joined.

The complete absence of other cars would have left her confused as to where to park, but Davos had clearly been here many times. He pulled around down a small drive that lead to a large garage and tucked his truck, now looking rather shabby in comparison to their surroundings, into a far corner.

They all piled out, and for a moment just stared at the fortress looking above them. It didn’t seem like a home at all. Finally Davos cleared his throat.

“There’s a side door over here that leads to the kitchen. That’s probably where they are.”

Sure enough, they had barely opened the side door (Melisandre half expected an alarm to go off and for them to be promptly arrested, so certain was she that they did not belong here), when they heard the sounds of pots clanging.

They followed the sound to where Robert stood on a chair, stirring an enormous pot, wearing only a pair of swim trunks. Although the pot was resting on the stovetop, Melisandre noticed that the stove was not on. Before she could ponder the matter further, Robert saw them.

“THOROS!!!” He hurled himself like a human cannonball at her brother who caught him, although staggered on impact. “Shots! Where are the shot glasses! RENLY!”

A small boy stuck his head through a bannister leading to an upper level. He had the Baratheon black hair and blue eyes, but in pixie proportions.

“Stannis said your guests would smudge the good crystal and I agree. I hid them. They’re Baccarat you know.”

Robert made a disgruntled noise, and turned back to his pot.

“Here try this,” he ordered Thoros, dipping the spoon into a bright blue concoction.

“Amazing!” Thoros pronounced.

“Right?!” Robert beamed.

“Jungle juice?”

“The Baratheon house special!” Robert took a spoonful himself. “Another?”

“Chyeah!”

A second round. The two had an unpleasant habit of feeding off each other’s energy, and Melisandre decided to interrupt before they were both bouncing off the walls.

“Where’s Stannis?” She asked coolly.

“Princess!” Robert swung her into a hug as if just noticing that Thoros had not appeared by himself.

“And Dav... Dav... Daveth!” Robert stumbled on the boy’s name and Davos gave a half-hearted wave.

“He’s fussing with the pool thermometer,” Robert rolled his eyes.

“Come on, Dav-eth, let’s go find him,” Melisandre said, towing him away before they too became jungle juice guinea pigs.

She dragged him through a series of progressively fancier rooms before Davos interjected.

“Er, do you know where the pool is?” He asked skeptically. She gave him a look. It was her first time in the house, of course, but she hated admitting there was anything she didn’t know. He continued in a rush.

“Just cuz it can get confusing the first couple of times, it took me like a month before I wasn’t constantly ending up in the laundry room.”

He backtracked them a room or two and then took a hallway she hadn’t noticed which ultimately popped out on a patio.

Below was a spectacular pool, lit with colored lights that gently cycled through different combinations. There was a low arched stone bridge over the center of the pool and a number of floats. Melisandre thought of the public pool where had spent the summer and tried not to gnash her teeth.

“Stannis!” Davos called, and their friend looked up from a table where he appeared to be studying an owner’s manual.

“You’re two minutes late,” Stannis informed them. “What do you think the optimum temperature for a pool is?”

“Robert held us up,” Melisandre waved her hand. “Did you know he doesn’t know Davos’ name? How long have the two of you been friends?”

“Ages,” Davos said right as Stannis replied “Four years.”

“I think high eighties,” Davos continued on and Stannis nodded assent, both clearly unbothered by the state of affairs.

“Don’t you think that’s rude? He’s your best friend!” Melisandre pushed.

“Robert doesn’t notice anything outside his orbit. The only reason he knows your name is because he thinks you’re hot,” Stannis said dismissively. Melisandre blushed, and then blushed harder when she realized that Robert might not actually know her name either. The constant nicknaming made it impossible to tell.

“He was busy with his jungle juice,” Davos shrugged.

“Oh right,” Stannis snapped his fingers and then turned to her. “Don’t drink the jungle juice,” he said seriously. “It’s like eight standard drinks.” Melisandre thought of Robert and her brother, last seen looking for a ladle, and smiled weakly.

“So, did you not tell us this was a pool party?” Davos asked suddenly.

“It’s a party at our house and we have a pool. All of our parties by definition are pool parties,” Stannis crossed his arms. Davos and Melisandre exchanged looks.

“If you didn’t turn the heater on, it wouldn’t be a pool party,” Davos pointed out.

“Robert was wearing his swim trunks. Are we not properly dressed?” Melisandre’s voice dropped to dangerous levels of calm.

“I’m not wearing my swim trunks,” Stannis pointed out.

“So you didn’t tell us because you don’t want to go swimming,” Davos guessed. Stannis huffed but did not deny the charge.

“This changes my list,” Melisandre mused. She had been planning to wait until the party really got started, but if Stannis was going to be a child, he deserved some comeuppance.

“What list?” Stannis said suspiciously.

“My list of party rules,” Melisandre pulled out a card from her pocketbook, and a pen, and carefully wrote something down. Stannis tried to look over her shoulder but she jerked it away.

“It’s my party, I know the rules,” he said, still trying to peek.

“It’s your brother’s party isn’t it? And these are the rules for having fun at parties. You’re not allowed to complain about the party being boring unless you’ve done them all,” she raised an eyebrow in a challenge.

“Why should I agree to these rules? You won’t even let me see them!” Stannis protested.

“Davos can be the judge. Davos, if you don’t think a rule is legitimate, you have veto,” Melisandre said sweetly, giving him her best death glare. He gulped.

“Rule one. You have to have get drunk,” Melisandre announced.

“I’m underage. It’s against the law,” Stannis crossed his arms.

“Is that the only reason?” Melisandre tilted her head quizzically.

“Of course! I’m not scared of it,” Stannis scowled. The trap snapped shut.

“Oh good. Because in King’s Landing, it’s not against the law for minors to drink in the privacy of their home with parental permission.”

“My parents haven’t given me permission.”

“They don’t know you’re having the party?”

“Of course they do!”

“Oh, so one of you bought all that nice wine on the counter without them knowing?”

Stannis fidgeted.

“No, they pick out the bottles from their cellar they don’t mind us drinking.”

“Great!” Melisandre beamed. “Davos, why don’t you get us a bottle.”

“I’ll get us two,” Davos said, and unless it was a random facial tick, she could have sworn he smirked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art (I say masterpiece, ASV says doodles) by the amazing AlsoSprachVelociraptor! You can find all of ASV's Light the Way pics here: https://alsosprachvelociraptor.tumblr.com/post/185964961255/ and I'm equally obsessed with all of them, but only these two have hilarious captions which I'm also sharing :)
> 
> "Stannis FFS Look at How Hot Mel Is Not At That F*cking Pool Thing!"  
> 
> 
> And "Thoros Can't Dress and Robert Doesn't Even Try"  
> 


	11. Jaime (Robert's Rager 3 of 6)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exciting news! Not only do you get a new POV, the second of our three meet cutes and a bunch of new and overdue characters, but we've gone multimedia! The amazingly talented AlsoSprachVelociraptor did some illustrations/doodles/masterpieces of the story and like a total creep I found them and got permission to post them. So check out the new and improved Chapters 2, 6 and 10. Or you know, go straight to the source and see them all at once: https://alsosprachvelociraptor.tumblr.com/post/185964961255/
> 
> Now back to our story...

Jamie pulled into the party two hours late, parking his Range Rover and proceeding to check his reflection in the rear view mirror. He raked his fingers through his golden hair a few times, trying to get that perfect wind-tousled look that made him the most desirable bachelor in his year.

“Jamie, we’re going to be late,” Cersei whined, checking her own makeup in the side mirror. 

Jamie rolled his eyes.

“We were late ninety minutes ago, when you finally finished your shower. Query why you bothered to wash your hair and curl it if you’re planning on going swimming.”

“I’m not going swimming, I’m showing off my super cute crochet bikini,” Cersei pouted. 

“That’s not the only thing you’re showing off,” Jaime snarked with a pointed glance at the denim mini skirt bikini top combo. He slid out of the car, not bothering to see if his twin was following.

She was of course. They had done this routine so many times it was more like a choreographed dance than an actual fight.

But gods, he was actually looking forward to this party! Robert had always thrown a good party. Whether it was the splashy opulence of the Baratheon manor, the heir apparent’s commitment to early alcoholism, or just his insistence on casting a wider net than Center Table, Jaime never failed to have a good time.

He’d always found the company at Center Table lacking. Rhaegar and his cronies had bored him, and the great Robert Ned bromance was even worse. Oberyn could be amusing, but the senior chased tail even more than he did. He would NEVER be so desperate as to voluntarily spend time with a Greyjoy. If you cut out the hangers on, that really left young Edmure Tully and Mace Tyrell, and they could make watching paint dry seem appealing.

At least Robert would have invited the entire Stormlands inner circle tonight. If Jaime wanted to stir some shit, all he had to do was talk about how the Durrandons USED to be the richest family in the Stormlands.

“Is that Little Miss Perfect Catelyn Tully grinding on Ned Stark,” Cersei caught his arm, her emerald eyes sparking merrily. There was nothing like gossip to put her in a good mood. “Get me something to drink, I have to find Varys,” she said and promptly disappeared into the swirling crowd.

Jaime edged toward the de facto bar, which was the entirety of the kitchen. There seemed to be quite a crowd around Robert’s infamous jungle juice. From experience, he gave it a wide berth. A Spicer, no doubt invited by Robert for her perky tits, clearly had not. She was hanging all over one of those scholarship kids, Stannis Baratheon’s lackey. 

“Sybell, getting to know his financial aid package? You’re so charitable,” he smirked. She flushed beet red and slid off the poor sod without a second glance. He paused for a moment in case the fellow wanted to take a swing but he only threw a dirty look and moved on.

“That was mean,” Cersei purred in his ear, the perpetual devil on his shoulder.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” he said cockily, snagging a bottle of Chardonnay for her and a bottle of scotch for himself. Thus armed, she took his elbow and the two moved with the crowd onto the patio.

The girls were for the most part lounging or strutting or paddling on floats, daring an eligible man to flip them. The boys in contrast were primarily entertained by a simplistic version of king of the hill which centered around the open bridge over the center of the pool.

Two boys met in the middle, wrestled, and the winner was the one who threw the other over. The losing side sent forth another contender—if both fell, it was a draw and each side elected a new champion.

Jaime watched in grudging admiration as Robert’s pet fire-worshipper threw yet another challenger over his shoulder, as Cersei prattled in the background. He had won five or six in a row, and the drunken fool wasn’t even wearing swimwear. And there went Randyll Tarly with a yelp. That was a surprise—Randyll was on the wrestling team and far heavier than the redhead. What was he doing?

Jaime’s not-so-secret passion was jujitsu. He’d been highly competitive through grade school, until his father had attended an unfortunate match where an overly aggressive asshole had choked him into unconsciousness. His father had acted like he could have been paralyzed or brain dead. It had been a second or two at most! But regardless, competitions were out. Now he only trained with his coach, and he constantly itched to test himself against real competitors.

It took another two victories before he figured it out. The fire-fucker was stomping hard on his opponent’s insole and capitalizing on their resulting imbalance to shove them off the bridge. Dirty. Jaime was mildly impressed and determined not to let this Essos refuse embarrass the party further.

“Are you even listening to me?” Cersei sighed, but Jaime was already drifting toward the bridge.

He only had to wait for the current match to end, because nobody would dare refuse Jaime Lannister their spot in line.

He walked up the bridge nonchalantly as everyone hushed. He pulled off his t-shirt and tossed it into a crowd of freshman girls who immediately started fighting for it. Now in just tennis shoes and his trunks, he gave Red an arrogant smile and a Matrix style ‘bring it on’ gesture. Red took a swig from a flask—seriously, how was he standing—and then charged, leading with the shoulder, center of gravity low. 

Jaime stepped back to dodge, but Red managed to at least strike a glancing blow. Jaime fell back a step but only a step. He was waiting for the instep move, leaving himself open, daring the Essos boy to make it. Finally, as they grappled toward the side of the bridge, he saw his opponent’s front foot sliding forward. And that was his chance.

With a brutal twist of knee, he caught him hard in the groin. Red immediately doubled over, and at that point it was more of a mercy to push him off the ledge than anything else. Jeans, tacky red jacket and all.

There was no applause at the splash—his move had been too blatantly below the belt (ha), but Jaime spun anyway, arms open, daring the next contender.

“Are you not entertained?!” He roared, savoring the rush of adrenaline. Father would have him pay others to do his fighting. Gods, what a boring way to live. But if they were scared to not let Jaime Lannister cut in line, these partygoers were petrified of actually fighting him. No takers.

Just then, there was a commotion from further back near the gazebo in the woods, and a figure stomped forward, head down.

He was as tall as Jaime, maybe taller, blonde and broad shouldered, wearing a jersey of some kind. Well the first one hadn’t been dressed for a bath either.

“A challenger!” Jaime gestured dramatically.

“Let me pass,” the boy snapped gruffly. 

“That’s not exactly how the game is played,” Jaime quirked an eyebrow, and his audience tittered.

“I’m not playing your stupid game, I’m trying to get to the house,” the boy scowled, his plain pale face flushing.

“Then go around,” Jaime smirked. 

And that’s when the boy caught him in a haymaker that launched him several feet back and into the water with a resounding smack.

Jaime surfaced with a splutter, utterly dumb-founded. The entire left side of his jaw felt like it was on fire. That kid had cheated! It was wrestling, not boxing! And more than cheated, that kid had had the balls to punch him in the face!

He backstroked idly, ignoring a girl cooing to him about his poor face from a swan float. 

Who was that kid? A Stormlander obviously, since he was not Center Table, or Center Table adjacent. And a freshman, unless Jaime missed his mark, despite his height. First because he would have known who Jaime was if he had been older. And second, Jaime would have noticed him before tonight. He wasn’t sure why, he just knew he would have.

Strangely, he felt compelled to seek him out even now. The boy had vanished from the bridge, and Jaime stood up and made his way to the pool steps. Where had he gone?

“Your face is starting to look all puffy,” Cersei told him, appearing from the crowd with a solo cup in one hand. “You should put some ice on it.”

“Who was that guy?” Jaime asked, still scanning the crowd.

“I wasn’t watching,” Cersei shrugged. “Did you know that Catelyn Tully dated Ned’s older brother their freshman year? Varys is going to do a feature on his blog, he’s thinking of calling it ‘Stark Mad’.”

“I don’t care,” Jaime scoffed, and pushed passed her, his shoes squelching unpleasantly with every step.

He needed to find one of the Baratheons. They would presumably know who they had invited to their own party. He was pretty sure Robert had been doing a keg stand when he had first taken the bridge.

As he turned a corner, he almost collided with Beric Dondarrion and flinched as he made his apologies to the taller boy. 

The star wide receiver had had a nasty motorcycle accident last spring and had missed the first week of class. Based on his current ravaged appearance, he wouldn’t be returning to the football field anytime soon. His entire right eye was gone, replaced by an ugly black patch. A jagged raised scar rippled around his neck. Always lanky, Dondarrion seemed even taller and skinnier than he remembered, a dark blond scarecrow in a polo shirt with one blinking blue eye. To think the girls had thought him handsome once. 

Jaime tried not to stare as the senior retreated and refocused on his mission.

A trip to the keg yielded no Robert. 

Jaime hesitated, stymied. Robert, big and with a bigger personality, was not usually a difficult fellow to find. Perhaps he had gone upstairs with his latest conquest. Perhaps he had gone upstairs with several.

As Jaime looked around, he spotted the next best thing, and almost snorted with laughter.

The normally taciturn Stannis Baratheon was sitting with Red’s sister, Meli-something, and beaming. Granted he had an empty bottle in one hand and was making feeble attempts to grab at another that Meli-something was holding out of reach, but he still looked happier than Jaime had ever seen him.

“You can’t have any more until you flirt with a pretty girl!” The girl was saying sternly, but her face was trying to hide a smile. 

“I want a ruling! Davos!”

“He’s not here, besides he would agree. He already did that rule earlier with the Spicer girl remember?”

Stannis pouted and then changed tactics.

“I did that one already!”

“You did not!” The girl laughed.

“I did! I said your dress made your legs look very nice!”

Awwww. Young love. Jaime hated to interrupt. 

“Excuse me, Stannis, I need some help.”

“It’s a Lannister,” Stannis blinked at the girl, as if he were commenting on a wildlife exhibit. The girl glared at Jaime as if this particular exhibit should be burnt to the ground. Heh, he would leave her to her drunken suitor soon enough.

“There’s a boy here, quite tall, broad shoulders, short blond hair, pale, wearing a blue jersey,” Jaime describe his combatant. 

Evidently he had said something amusing, because Stannis burst out laughing.

He glared at him. He was starting to think that he preferred the sober uptight Stannis.

“S’not a boy,” Stannis said finally, successfully swiping the bottle of wine. “S’a friend of Renly’s. Brienne Tarth.”


	12. Beric (Robert's Rager 4 of 6)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our last meet cute! The one you've all been waiting for (just me? probably). I wrote the entire thing before realizing I'd included a reference to Pirates of the Caribbean. In my defense, it is really hard to write about rum and NOT reference PoC. If you're in Amurrrica like me, happy fourth!

Beric wondered if years from now, he would think of his life as before the wreck and after. Before he had been a handsome football star with straight As. While he didn’t have any close friends, he had a vast social group that were all happy to have him tag along, as if by sheer proximity, some of his effortless success would rub off on them. 

And then, one stupid stormy night, he had driving home on his motorcycle without his protective gear. That was all it took. Some slick pavement, some slow reflexes, and a crash that would change his life forever. 

He remembered his brief flight through the air, the unbearable burning pain as he hit the pavement and skidded, spilling his guts on the interstate. Feeling the heat of his own blood as it welled out of him, the stabbing white light through his right eye, and then nothing. 

The paramedics had gotten him to the hospital. At some point he had died. For three whole minutes Beric Dondarrion hadn’t existed except as a sad little footnote in history. And then they had brought him back, a creature of pure pain and electricity for a brief confused moment before he passed out again. 

Yes, infinite gratitude to the paramedics. They had stitched him up and put the guts back roughly where they belonged, but like Humpty Dumpty, they couldn’t put him back together again. 

The months of rehab, missing his junior spring classes, seeing the horror in people’s eyes as he shuffled through the grocery story. His parents, his darling supportive parents, had been wonderful of course. But even that was stifling in its own way. He wasn’t made of glass. They hadn’t even wanted him to go back to school for his senior year—home schooling they had suggested, maybe some world travel thrown in. A gap year. Time to recover, to heal. 

He didn’t want to recover! He just wanted to continue with his life and stop waking up every morning thinking about this accident and how it defined his every minute of existence. He had already missed the window to graduate with the rest of his class. He had already deferred his college applications by another year. He couldn’t stomach any more limbo. (Actually, because of the surgeries, there was a lot he couldn’t stomach.) 

Beric had, through sheer stubbornness, prevailed on this point. He was starting his senior year a couple weeks late, but he was starting. No matter that he had missed football tryouts—his days of being the Lightning Lord, famous for his spectacular 50-yard catches, were over. There was more to school than football. And he had Robert’s party to prove it, the first time he would be seeing his classmates, his ostensible friends, since that fucking crash. 

Growing up in the Stormlands near the Baratheons, he had gone to many such parties. Of course never the weekend before he started school as the tragic cautionary tale of the Boy Who Crashed His Motorcycle. Careful children, try not to stare. As a result, he was uncharacteristically anxious and arrived at the party several hours late. 

He had eschewed pool gear for khakis and a polo—if people found his eye patch and the jagged scar across his neck gruesome, they certainly didn’t need to see what his chest looked like. 

But it didn’t matter. Even drunk, people gasped or cringed. Girls who had once futilely flirted with him now gave him nervous smiles and then looked away. Gradually, he realized that over each room he walked into came a sort of hush. 

It reminded him strangely of the Edgar Allen Poe short story, The Masque of the Red Death. How the grim specter of a plague victim had walked through a costume ball, and into each room it passed the party had fallen silent. At last, when at the stroke of midnight, they had attempted to unmask the guest, they discovered it was no guest at all but death itself. 

Maybe that was why the party fell silent. He was the embodiment of their mortality, their ultimate human frailty, and here at this celebration of youth and excess and pleasure, he was not welcome. 

It was Jaime Lannister, jumping back as if he had seen the grim reaper which was the final nail on the coffin. Jaime Lannister, who had always proved that impossibly good looks could conceal a shitty personality. Jaime, judging him. Worse, pitying him. Beric decided to leave. 

He hadn’t bothered to drive—he only lived four houses down from the Baratheons, and he had planned to drink before he realized what a debacle this party was going to be. So instead he walked down their rolling lawn to the beach, intending to walk along the shore until he reached his own house. 

It was dark of course, and uneven ground, but he had walked this way a thousand times. Instead of staring at his feet, he preferred to look out at the ocean and think about scale. What happened tonight was a drop in the bucket of his life. This accident would someday be a drop in the bucket of his life as well. He had to believe that. 

“Look out!” A voice at his feet shouted, and then he was face planting into the sand. That was the problem with only having one eye. Massive blind spot. 

He wasn’t hurt or even stunned, but he let himself lie in the sand for a second, just to acknowledge that this was a bad end to a bad day. The sandy icing on a shit cake. 

“Are you okay? Do you need an ice pack? I can share mine,” the person he had tripped over offered politely. He sat up and looked. 

The boy was his age, had messy hair in a top knot, and appeared to be very wet. He was sitting with his legs stuck straight out and a bag of frozen peas over his crotch. 

“Er no thanks, I don’t need your... ice pack,” Beric raised his eyebrow at the peas. 

“How bout a drink then?” The boy gave a crooked grin and produced a flask. If he found Beric’s appearance disturbing, he didn’t show it. Maybe it was because it was dark. 

“I could definitely use a drink,” Beric admitted. He took the flask and had a swig, almost choking at the unexpected strength and sweetness. It tasted like sugar that had been set on fire. 

“What is that?” He coughed. 

“Myrrish rum, do you like it?” His companion asked. 

“It’s very unique,” Beric said politely, and then because this was the most positive interaction he had had all night, he braced himself and took another gulp. “Are you from Myr?” 

“I’m not from anywhere really, my parents are missionaries so we bounced around a lot. But I was born there. And if I could go back to anywhere we lived, it would be Myr.” 

“Your parents are missionaries?” Beric asked surprised. 

“Mmmhmm. Spreading the word of the Lord of Light,” the boy struck a pious pose. “For the night is dark and full of terrors.” 

Beric didn’t know much about the red god, but the little he did know was unsavory. Now that the boy said it, Beric thought he recognized him. Thoros. He usually wore a red sweatshirt. He and his sister had started at the school last year. 

“It’s Thoros right? I’m Beric,” Beric introduced himself and extended a hand, feeling embarrassed that he’d been drinking his classmate’s rum without even bothering to observe basic social etiquette. 

If Thoros seemed offended, he certainly didn’t act it. He reached over and gave him a firm handshake. 

“You’re on the football team right?” Thoros said nonchalantly. 

“I was,” Beric said, his voice getting tight despite his best efforts. “Before my accident last spring.” 

“Terrible sport, football, never understood it,” Thoros replied airily, as if they were not treading in painful waters. Beric gave a snort of bemusement. 

“That’s because you’re from Essos. Football builds teamwork, and determination and grit!” 

“Okay Pop Warner,” Thoros laughed and then poked him in the chest. “Why do they keep stopping the clock? An hour game that goes for four hours? I’m calling bullshit.” 

Beric mounted a spirited defense of the history of the game, explained some of the great clock stopping moments at the professional level, and then dug into the strategy of time management, even though he suspected Thoros was just winding him up. 

“I yield!” Thoros finally put his hands up. “You’ve converted me!” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be converting me?” Beric asked cheekily. “Your parents are missionaries so you’re like a priest right?” 

“Hardly,” Thoros said drily. 

“Whatever you say, priest.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Thoros gave him a mock scowl over the flask that he had retrieved. “Or I’ll start calling you Lightning Lord. That’s what you just said the school paper called you, right?” 

Beric was glad it was dark so that his blush would be invisible. He hadn’t realized that had slipped out. 

“What’s it like having parents who are missionaries?” He changed the subject hastily. 

“I dunno, don’t have much to compare it with. Moving around a lot sucks. I guess in some ways, they’re pretty chill though. They were fine with me and my sister staying in King’s Landing by ourselves when they got sent to Lorath. They don’t really care what we do as long as our souls are saved. Don’t have to worry about grades or extracurriculars or college, you know?” 

What he had just described sounded so impossibly different from Beric’s own life that he could honestly say he did not know. 

“Your parents left you on a different continent?” He made a sound of disbelief. “My mom barely leaves me to go to the bathroom. I thought they were bad before the accident, but now I can’t wipe without them trying to help me.” 

Thoros snickered and passed the flask back. Beric took a long swig. It was growing on him. 

“It’s cool that you have a sister. I’m an only child. Sometimes I think that’s why my parents are so nuts. They’re determined that I’m going to get into the Citadel, and be a lawyer, and get married and have 2.5 kids and a white picket fence. They didn’t even want me to play football after pee wee! They thought it took up time that I should be spending on Model UN or volunteering. And now with the motorcycle crash—I know they’re so disappointed in me for being reckless, but they won’t come out and say it and it’s awful.” 

Beric came to an abrupt halt as he realized this might be the most he had ever said to anybody about himself ever. He didn’t mean to be private, but when it came to the social circles he moved in, he was just more comfortable with small talk. 

Thoros leaned forward, squinting at him. He had blue eyes, Beric realized. He was cute in a chewed up sort of way. No Jaime Lannister, but then he was a lot nicer than Jaime Lannister. 

“As someone who specializes in being a disappointment to my parents,” Thoros said finally, their faces just inches apart. “I don’t see how you can be a disappointment to anyone.” 

Beric took another sip from his flask. 

“So I’m a disappointment at being a disappointment?” 

“If you like,” Thoros grinned, and sat back down. Beric felt strangely bereft of his closeness. A wild idea struck him. 

“Want to play a game?” 

“What kind of game?” Thoros tilted his head. 

“A drinking game,” Beric said mischievously. 

“Then yes. Also I should warn you, I will win.” 

“Okay, here’s the rules. I ask a question. You have to answer it truthfully or drink. Then it’s your turn.” 

“Ha deal. I’m going to crush this.” 

Beric frowned in thought. 

“Why do you want to go back to Myr?” 

“It’s warm, it’s on the water, the red temple there is really small, they make the most amazing rum and the girls like to sunbathe topless.” 

Beric rolled his one eye. 

“My turn,” Thoros smirked. “How many sexual partners have you had?” 

“What?!” Beric felt his face heat up. 

“I told you I’m going to win. Now answer or drink.” 

“One,” Beric growled. 

“Ooooh I thought you would drink,” Thoros laughed. 

“How many have you had?” 

“Like sex sex or oral too?” 

“Sex sex,” Beric crossed his arms. 

“Eight.” 

“What?! No way—you’re totally lying,” Beric felt his jaw drop. Sure, Robert had probably had more than eight, but he was a famous football star with loads of money. 

“Am not. Only one since we moved here though. I do not think much of King’s Landing’s sexual mores.” 

“In that we have some?!” 

“Exactly. It’s a terrible waste.” 

“So you slept with seven people between the ages of fourteen and sixteen?!” 

“If you’re asking me when I lost my virginity, that’s a different question and I should get two next round,” Thoros shook his finger sternly. 

“Fine, when did you lose your virginity?” Beric asked. 

“When I was thirteen,” Thoros grinned. “You’re up. When did you lose your virginity?” 

“Sophomore year,” Beric answered, hoping the next question would not be about his sex life. They were on dangerous ground here. 

“What’s the biggest secret you’ve never told your parents?” Thoros rocked back, convinced he had picked a winner. 

Beric wasn’t sure why he answered. Maybe because he trusted this guy he had met thirty minutes ago but who was now probably his best friend. Maybe because the accident had put all the other bullshit he had gone through into perspective. Maybe because he just wanted to roll the dice and see what happened. 

“That I’m gay,” he answered calmly. Thoros gave him a small inscrutable smile and toasted him with the flask. “You’re just about the only person at our school who knows, so don’t go spreading it around,” Beric warned him. 

“Your secret is safe with me,” Thoros said, and for once the sardonic lilt that Beric had assumed was part of his voice was gone. 

“Probably a big no no for your religion, eh priest?” Beric said, trying to lighten the mood. Thoros shook his head. 

“My religion doesn’t believe that souls have gender, only our bodies. And that what we are attracted to is someone’s soul. We believe in reincarnation, that Azor Ahai, the prince who was promised, is reborn over and over to fight the long night. And always, they must find their true love, Nissa Nissa, lifetime after lifetime, to prevail.” 

Beric was struck for a moment by the peculiar beauty of the thought. 

“That’s very romantic,” he said at last. Thoros shrugged. 

“Not really. Azor Ahai is fated to sacrifice Nissa Nissa to bring forth the Lightbringer, the sword that can defeat darkness. Basically they find each other over and over again, only for one to kill the other. Over and over and over.” 

“Still romantic,” Beric mused. 

“Still a terrible waste of a question,” Thoros grinned. 

“What! That wasn’t my question!” Beric protested. “It was just A question, that you happened to answer!” 

“Oh fine. But only because I’m winning,” Thoros yawned. 

“It’s a tie! Nobody is winning!” 

“Or everybody is winning. You should really learn to look on the bright side,” Thoros teased. Beric huffed. 

“Fine. What is the biggest secret you’re keeping from your parents?” 

Thoros opened his mouth and then shut it again. He looked oddly like someone had turned the light out behind his eyes. He gave Beric a sad smile, shrugged and drank. 

“I’ll tell you some day,” Thoros said, and his easy confidence that they would have a some day more than made up for the fact that he would not share his secret. Beric beamed. 

“I’ll hold you too that. But now I’m winning AND I get another question,” Beric smirked. 

“Was that in the rules?” Thoros protested. 

“It is now. What’s with the frozen peas?” 

“Oh,” Thoros rolled his eyes. “Jaime Lannister kneed me in the balls. A piece of work, that one.” 

“Aye,” Beric agreed and lifted the flask in a mock salute. “Kid needs a therapist to work out his daddy issues.” 

“Who’d you lose your virginity to?” Thoros asked. Beric sighed and drank. 

“He’s not out either. He graduated last year though so you probably don’t know him.” 

“Oooh an older man,” Thoros waggled his eyebrows. “Now it’s my turn for a second question! Who do you hate the most?” 

“Hate? Me?” Beric spluttered. He tried very hard not to hate anybody. He believed with all his heart that people were intrinsically good, and most of the world’s problems could be solved by understanding the other side’s perspective. “I don’t hate anyone!” 

“If you can’t answer you’ll have to drink,” Thoros warned. 

“Ummm,” Beric tried to think. A dark memory brushed the back of his mind. “Gregor Clegane.” 

“Huh. How come?” 

“Do I get two questions next round?” Beric teased. 

“Ugh fine. But this better be some terrible secret.” 

“It’s not. When we were freshmen, I caught him beating up some middle schoolers for their lunch money. I was too scared to stop him.” 

“You probably couldn’t have,” Thoros shrugged. 

“But I should have tried. I owed them that at least,” Beric said earnestly. It was one of those moments that haunted him, when he had fallen short of the code of honor he set for himself. 

There was a long pause. 

“You’re a very good person,” Thoros said quietly. “I don’t always know what to do with very good people.” 

“Be my friend?” Beric said hopefully. 

“If my Lightning Lord commands,” Thoros grinned. 

“He does,” Beric assured him. “I think you’re a good person too.” 

Thoros took a long drink, one that drained the flask, and sent a trickle of rum running down his beard. When there was none left, he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. 

“I’m really really not,” Thoros said firmly. “But I’ll be your friend anyway.” 

“You drank all the rum!” Beric exclaimed in an outraged tone. 

“It was my rum!” 

“You just didn’t want me to win!” 

“Now now, we both won,” Thoros smiled smugly. “I told you I’d win.” 

“You cheated!” 

“Only a little.” 

Beric tried to stand and nearly toppled over. The world was spinning. Wow. Strong stuff that Myrrish rum. 

“Stand still,” he frowned at Thoros. 

“You’re drunk,” Thoros laughed. 

“Not as drunk as you,” Beric countered. 

“Maybe, but I hold it better. How do we get you home?” 

“We walk,” Beric said firmly, throwing his arm around Thoros for balance. “You’re coming with me.” 

“I could hardly turn down a cripple,” Thoros smirked up at him. “But you’ll have to lead the way. I don’t know where we’re going.” 

“I’m not a cripple! Just because I have one eye, I see a lot of things better than a lot of people you know,” Beric said, his thoughts feeling sluggish and disconnected. Thoros was warm. He liked that. And he liked how okay he made everything seem. “This way!” He tugged him by the arm. 

Somehow, their drunken three legged shuffle got them to his house. 

“This is me,” Beric said, trying to sound dignified without lifting his head off Thoros’ shoulder. 

“Great Other, you really are a lord,” Thoros marveled at the massive mansion before them. Silly. It wasn’t half as big as the Baratheons’. 

“You could come in,” Beric offered. 

“Your parents might not like that,” Thoros scratched his head sheepishly. 

“They wouldn’t,” Beric agreed. “But you can come in anyway.” 

“Nah, I’m all right. See you at school on Monday?” 

“Yes!” Beric smiled broadly, feeling more optimistic about the school year than he had in months.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How'd I do?


	13. Mel/Jaim/Ber (Robert's Rager 5 of 6)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! The next two chapters each have three povs. I'd be curious if you think it makes the writing too choppy? Anyway, enjoy and have a great weekend!

Who would have thought that Stannis could be convinced to do so much simply by saying it was a rule? Well, Melisandre obviously, but even she was a little taken aback at her plan’s success. 

Stannis had jumped in the water, flipped a float, done a keg stand, had the teensiest sip of jungle juice. He had played a round of that silly king of the hill (and won before forfeiting his position anyway). He had tried to start a fight (with Robert, by telling him he’d tried the jungle juice and it was terrible, but Robert had only laughed and ruffled his hair). 

And now he was looking at her and saying he’d already flirted with a pretty girl. Melisandre really wanted to kiss him. She really wanted to make it a rule that he had to kiss her. But she also wanted him to kiss her because he wanted to and not as part of some stupid game she was basically making up on the fly. (Stannis had yet to figure it out, but the official notecard was just full of some random doodles of flames.)

“What’s the next rule?” Stannis asked, his narrow face just the teensiest bit flushed from drink. You would never know he was wasted, except for the broad and slightly vacuous smile.

“You have to dance,” Melisandre announced, hearing the music floating over from the house. She had expected to him to argue that he hated dancing. Instead, he leapt nimbly to his feet.

“Let’s go then,” he grabbed her hand and towed her back to the living room, where all the furniture had been pushed into the corners to create a large dance floor.

Some inane pop song was on, the latest Tom Sevens, and it was easy enough to dance like this, just jumping in time with the music. It was crowded, and everybody more or less was jostled into dancing in rhythm. There was a disco ball hanging somewhat absurdly from a crystal chandelier, but it worked all the same, shifting them through waves of shadow and light.

Maybe it was the flickering light or maybe it was the alcohol, but Stannis seemed warmer somehow, more gentle. When the song shifted into a slow dance, he caught her up and they danced together, and she could feel his heartbeat as she laid her head against his chest. Not made of stone after all. She didn’t know how long they spent like this—time had an odd way of speeding up around him. She could spend an hour in his arms and feel like only a moment had passed.

“I thought you would be a bad dancer,” she admitted, thinking about how the hand resting lightly on the small of her back couldn’t possibly be responsible for the warmth flushing through her.

“We all had to learn. Mother insisted. I’m not as good as Renly, but I’m much better than Robert,” he replied, speaking into her hair.

She turned to look up at him, and his blue eyes were dark with something.

“You won the game,” she told him. “I don’t have any more rules left.”

“That’s a shame. I rather liked your rules,” Stannis said.

“Well they’re done now. You can do anything you like,” she bit her lip, trying to make it redder against her pale skin. You could kiss me if you like, she thought, but she didn’t say it.

His smile had faded somewhat and he looked more sober than he had earlier. 

“I think the party is nearly over,” he said. “People are leaving. You know I’ve never stayed at one of these parties until the end? Always gone to bed early so I could get a jump start on the mess in the morning. Is this what the end always looks like?”

Melisandre looked around, saw couples laughing as they left together, saw a few inebriates stumbling drunkenly into the night.

“Yes,” she said disinterestedly. Whatever magic Stannis could see around them was lost on her. She could only see what was between them.

“It’s more peaceful than I expected. It’s nice. What would you like to do, if you could do anything you wanted?”

Oh for R’hllor’s sake.

“I’d want a goodnight kiss,” she said boldly, trying to fan the gentle heat between them into a fire.

Stannis gave a laugh that was part surprise and part what sounded like frustration. There was a pause while he hesitated, and she stood there, looking up at him. Finally, he pulled her hands to his lips and kissed them. He was cold. Even after she jerked away, she could feel the imprint of the kiss like a shiver of winter on her skin.

Melisandre glanced down at her hands to conceal the hurt on her face. She felt like she had been slapped by the rejection. Like she was a child to be humored. Not a girl his age, with exotic good looks, looking him in the eye and asking to be kissed. She needed to get out. She needed to leave right now, before she had to stand here for one more moment, embarrassing herself. Already she could feel her body begin to tremble. Had she really thought she could melt him?

“I can’t—“ he started to say right as she began “I want—“

They stopped stymied and stared at each other.

“You first,” Stannis said gruffly.

“I want you to call me a taxi home,” she said, her voice as chilly as his lips. Inside, however, she was burning with an anger so hot she was surprised she didn’t spark.

Stannis jerked at her tone as if he had been stung.

“Of course,” he said stiffly.

The anger sustained her all the way back, the heat letting her walk up the stairs to her dingy apartment, letting her slam her room door, letting her curl up alone in her bed. And then, when she was finally at risk of nobody hearing, the tears came, just as hot against her face.

—————-

Jamie didn’t find him—her—until the end of the party. After all, where did one find tiny Renly Baratheon in a sea of adult sized partygoers. Truthfully, he had given up when he wandered to the second floor to look for a bathroom. What did it matter if one strangely large girl punched him in the face. But he couldn’t help but see the hurt that flashed through her brilliant blue eyes when he wouldn’t let her pass. He wanted to apologize. A rare thing, but he was prepared to admit he had been an ass.

It was as he was leaving the bathroom that he heard it. The murmur of voices and the giggle that might belong to an eight-year old boy. He crept along the hallway, glad that the lights were all off on this floor. And then, around the corner, he saw them.

They were looking down on the dance floor below, laughing together, the giant blonde beast of a girl and the tiny twig of a boy. Then the song changed, and Renly tugged the girl’s hand and then they were dancing, her stooped over awkwardly so he could reach her hands.

“You’ll have to spin me, Bri, I don’t think we can make it work the other way around,” Renly said solemnly, and whatever the girl said in response he could not catch but Renly laughed and she spun him.

It was a sweet moment, and Jaime knew instinctively that it was not his to intrude upon. He turned to go. He would have made a clean getaway too if it hadn’t been for some wretched floorboard creaking.

“Who’s there?” Brienne Tarth called, the gentle murmur replaced by a harsh bark. Jaime considered making a run for it and then remembered that he was a fucking Lannister and had never run from anything in his life.

“Just me I’m afraid,” he walked toward them, letting them see who it was. “Hullo Renly.”

“Hello Jaime,” the little boy said politely. “What happened to your face?”

“I was being a jackass and somebody punched me in the face. I deserved it,” Jaime said, looking at Brienne Tarth to make sure she had registered the apology. Her pale skin had flushed a brilliant red, with anger or embarrassment, he couldn’t tell.

“Don’t swear in front of him!” She snapped. Anger it was, then. “He’s eight years old!”

“Robert says worse,” Renly piped in helpfully. 

“You raise an interesting point. Do you prefer all of your men so young?” Jaime smirked at her. The flush was creeping past her face down her neck. He wondered how far it went.

“Bri knows I like boys,” Renly said matter-of-factly.

“We all know that Ren,” Jaime rolled his eyes. Sometimes he thought the kid could use a little more Tywin Lannister in his life. Not that he would wish that fate on his worst enemy.

“I choose my friends on merit, not on age,” Brienne glared at him.

“How did Renly merit such an honor? Did he win you over with his dance moves?” Jaime pressed. Brienne disentangled herself from Renly, abruptly.

“I should go,” she told him, her back ramrod straight. “Thank you for having me.” And then she hurried away, the stairs thudding as she took them two at a time in her haste to escape.

Jaime and Renly were left looking at each other. 

“Why do you have to be such a cunt?” Renly sneered.

Ah that famous Baratheon brother temper. Robert had taught him more than curse words.

Then Renly too was gone, and Jaime was left alone with his thoughts.

————

Beric showed up for school Monday feeling excited, nervous, and rather miffed. He had spent the better part of Sunday trying and failing to stalk his new friend.

Thoros had no social media profiles. He did not make a single appearance in the school yearbook outside of the class picture, where he stood off to the side, looking bored, next to that stoner kid Anguy. Even a search through the school newspaper’s online database yielded nothing but a brief mention from last fall in the list of new transfer students. It wasn’t until Beric had the idea of searching just by last name that he got anything of interest.

Then, almost immediately, the school newspaper produced seven or eight articles mentioning Melisandre Asshai, usually in the context of protesting this or that school policy as religious discrimination. There was a picture of her at a school dance, arms wrapped around a pretty dark haired girl, giving the camera a secretive smile. The dark haired girl was smiling too, but it appeared blanker.

It reminded Beric oddly of the only photo he had of him and Jon. He didn’t think about Jon much—they had dated for most of Beric’s sophomore and Jon’s junior year, but sometimes Beric thought it had been a relationship born of necessity rather than love. They were both from wealthy Stormlands families, both firmly in the closet to avoid disappointing overbearing parents. Jon had seen a kindred spirit in Beric, had helped him accept his own sexual identity, and for that Beric would be grateful. But he didn’t miss Jon’s black depressions or the emotional distance that Jon could put between them at the flick of a switch.

By the end of sophomore year, Beric had realized that the basic problem was that Jon was in love with his very straight best friend and was using Beric more or less for physical release. He had quietly broken things off with the older boy (who had been disappointed but not all that upset) and removed the picture of the two of them from his bureau and put it in the back of his closet. Last year they had been cordial, which was about what Beric could say for any of his friends. 

He had wondered what Thoros thought of his sister and this black-haired girl. Melisandre did not look particularly like her brother—she seemed fierce and defiant and rather full of herself. Her hair was the same dark red though and her eyes the same bright blue. Funny how the end result could be so different.

Reporting to the registrar this morning, he had made a point to befriend the secretary. She had cooed over his pathetic appearance, been charmed by his impeccable manners. She had been happy to see if his schedule overlapped with his good friend Thoros Asshai, and dismayed to report that it did not. Figured.

Beric was mostly in honors classes and Thoros was mostly not. The only exception was foreign language, where Beric languished in basic Valyrian and Thoros was off in H’gar’s advanced track. 

So Beric waited for lunch with the patience of someone who had spent a month immobile on a hospital bed. 

He knew he would always have a seat at the Stormlands table, even if it put people off their appetite. But now, his one eye scanning the cafeteria, he didn’t even bother to glance at them. That wouldn’t be where Thoros was.

Finally, he spotted Thoros’ sweatshirt. Attached to an arm that was enthusiastically waving at him. His smile was spontaneous and immediate.

He had almost gotten to the corner table when he realized it was Sandor Clegane’s table. Sandor, younger brother of the despised Gregor. Beric did not dislike Sandor, but he had known him for a long time and was aware that Sandor disliked everybody. But it was too late to turn back, and Thoros was still waving at him.

He put his tray down next to his friend, and sat gingerly, giving Sandor a cautious smile. Sandor had been growling something at Thoros, but on seeing who was joining them, he stopped.

“Beric Dondarrion,” he said, his eyes taking in Beric’s all-too changed appearance. The usual mixture of surprise and pity.

“You’ve seen better days,” Sandor announced bluntly, and Beric felt oddly relieved that he wasn’t going to pretend nothing had changed.

“Aye. And I won’t be seeing them again,” Beric agreed softly. He raised an eyebrow. Let me stay?

“I expect not,” Sandor shrugged, scratching his own hideous burn scar absently. There was a long pause while he mulled the unspoken question. Beric held his breath. “Well at least this one will have someone to talk to and I can go back to eating in peace,” he shot Thoros a dark look.

“Excellent!” Thoros clapped his hands. “Now Beric, tell me everything about yourself.”


	14. Bri/Thor/Stan (Robert's Rager 6 of 6)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our second arc comes to an end! No comments pro or con the multi POV format, so I'm rolling with it. (Not every chapter, but maybe every one in three.) As a quick side note, there's a reference in Thoros' section to Beric being fucking adorable. That's my homage to a favorite moment from Summer Storm by SaintEpithet, a must read if you like happy stories of Beric and Thoros being best buds and having Westeros adventures. Our next arc is heavy on action and light on fluff so savor this chapter!

It was two weeks after the party, and Brienne definitely had a problem.

She skulked at the back of her biology class furtively, watching as her other classmates streamed into the hallway. She had taken to carrying books for two or three classes with her, to avoid unnecessary trips to her locker. With ten minutes between classes, she could stay here for another eight and then make a two minute dash to Luwin’s classroom in time for history.

“Miss Tarth, are you looking for something?” Mr. Qyburn asked, staring at her.

At King’s Landing Prep, Qyburn was considered middling as far as teachers went. He knew the material (AP Bio and regular track Physics) backwards and forwards, which put him ahead of old Pycelle, for example. His classes were reasonably entertaining, and he did not spend a great deal of time trying to stop students from talking to each other or passing notes like Mr. Sparrow. He was not leery like Mr. Frey or absent-minded like Miss Quaithe. But he was notoriously unsympathetic to student problems like late homework or missed tests. He was quite capable of listening to Lysa Tully sob her heart out about misplacing her textbook and then calmly docking her an entire letter grade. Nor was he known for his generous office hours. He seemed to regard students as a puzzling but mostly benign nuisance that kept him from his true interests, whatever those were. When Brienne had come up with her brilliant plan, she had not considered that Qyburn might not want her loitering in his classroom.

“Erm no Mr. Qyburn, I was just wondering um...” Brienne thought frantically, trying to come up with some reason that might capture his interest. Her gaze landed on the dissection table. “Is it true that dead frogs will move if you put electricity through them?”

“Oh yes,” Qyburn nodded, a rare spark of interest illuminating his face. “Not just frogs. In the eighteenth century, scientists experimented on human corpses and produced some fascinating results.”

Brienne swallowed uneasily, but managed an intrigued expression.

“Would you tell me about the results?”

“Well the most interesting was a Dr. Shelley who...”

With an inward sign of release, Brienne tuned him out and silently counted the minutes until it would be safe to leave. However she had found herself in this situation, she was positive it wasn’t her fault. She had never expected high school to be easy, not for a girl like her. Countless movies had made it clear that a giant awkward brute of a girl nicknamed “Brienne the Beauty” should not expect smooth sailing. Heavens knew middle school had not been kind.

But Renly’s innocent invitation to his brother’s party should have been safe. Renly was probably her only friend. And yes, she was aware that he was six years younger than her. She had met him as a fifth grader when some boys had been teasing her. He had been in kindergarten and seemed even smaller—he had marched up to them and said where he was from he was taught to teach ladies with respect. They had wanted to beat him up of course, but people didn’t pick on Baratheons—especially a Baratheon with two much older, much scarier brothers.

She was keenly aware that she had little to bring to their friendship. She was neither good at nor took much interest in the things Renly liked. She was from the Stormlands, like him, but was at least two rungs lower on the social registry. Renly was very open about not liking girls, so he certainly wasn’t pretending he had an older (if very plain) girlfriend. And nobody would ever dare take his lunch money, so he didn’t need a bodyguard.

Finally, it occurred to her that he was probably almost as lonely as she was. It couldn’t be easy, being as determinedly different as Renly. Her heart ached for the little boy whose only crime was being true to himself. Even his brothers—for all that they appeared distantly fond of him—seemed to have little in common with him. 

Once she knew that in Renly’s eyes, she was not a charity case or a pity project, she had never again thought twice about his invitations. She had been to Baratheon parties before, but this would be her first as a high-schooler, attending a party most girls would pay money to go to. 

Except even if Renly could get her in the door, he couldn’t protect her from the masses of people his brother had invited. Her ears had burned at the snide comments about Robert’s change in taste, about the size and scale of the latest crop of freshman girls, about whether Robert knew a cow was loose in his backyard.

Finally, when she could bear it no longer, she had stormed back toward the house, determined to lock herself in one of the second floor bathrooms and have a good cry. But even that was not to be. Her path had been blocked by King Landing Prep’s own golden god, the perfect Jaime Lannister. A boy who had never once had a second’s grief over being the absolute asshat that he was.

Already rattled by the boys earlier, something in Brienne had snapped. She had thrown a punch and sent him flying, storming into the house without a second’s thought. When she had cooled down, she had expected there would be some hell to pay. He was a Lannister after all, and she had punched him in the face. What she had not expected was the unique and highly idiosyncratic methods that Jaime employed.

At exactly two minutes before her next period, she apologetically glanced at the clock and Qyburn waved her away.

She had made it five steps outside the classroom when Jaime rounded the corner and slung a familiar arm around her.

“Hullo wench,” he said chummily. “How was first period? AP Bio was it?”

“Get off,” she tried to shrug his arm away.

“As you wish,” he said, arm dropping to his side. “Can I carry your books? You seem to have accumulated quite the collection.”

A fair number of students were still in the hall, and Brienne could feel them staring. Even worse, she could feel the heat rising beneath her skin, feel that dreadful blush start to spread. How dare he mock her like this. Acting the mock-gallant, as if he were her boyfriend. As if he didn’t know how utterly ridiculous he made her look next to him.

“Stop it!” She snapped, knowing her skin was burning a brilliant traitorous red. 

“Stop what?” Jaime beamed at her, feigning ignorance like he didn’t know exactly what diabolical mind games he was playing.

“I’m sorry I hit you! Just leave me alone!” Brienne blurted. And then, books clutched to her chest, she fled to her next class. He would be back though. He always was.

————

It was three weeks after the party that Thoros realized he might have a problem. 

He had always liked honorable people. His very first friend had been a girl with pigtails in Myr who had defended an abused alley cat with a piece of abandoned plywood. They had spent a summer together crusading for animals rights and exchanging sticky pinkie swears of eternal friendship. Then her family had packed her up and moved off and he had never seen her again.

He had met the irrepressible Tormund in Ibben when he had come across Tormund getting beaten up by two larger boys. Every time they would knock him down, he would stand back up, until eventually he won the fight when his assailants got bored and yielded the field. He had known immediately they would get along.

He had met Jorah whilst getting drunk near the batting cages at the massive sports complex in Iron Port. He had gradually become aware of an odd yelping sound, and discovered a stick of a tween toting the world’s oldest baseball bat and cowering each time the ball machine reloaded. It turned out to be much easier to save Jorah from being pelted than it had been to save Tormund or the Myrrish girl. He had simply walked to the other end of the cage and disconnected the machine. He discovered that Jorah spent two hours every day at the batting cage, in a futile attempt to become good enough at baseball to impress his father, the deputy commissioner of the police. It was a noble and utterly quixotic quest, and Thoros had wiled away several pleasant afternoons shouting encouragement at the cages in the year since.

A honking briefly interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see Beric waving to him from his car, hanging half way out the front seat, the sun catching the copper in his dark blonde hair and laughter lighting his brilliant blue eye. A surge of dopamine ignited every brain cell that Thoros had, and his world reoriented kaleidoscopically with Beric at the center.

So yeah, that problem. He might have a huge crush on his new best friend. 

He almost wished Beric hadn’t told him he was gay. Because that let some terrible part of his brain torture him with crazy fantasies. He didn’t even like guys! Well okay, clearly he did, but this was the first guy. And it was even worse because Beric was so out of his league on every imaginable level.

He was ridiculously good looking (and not in a ‘I think you’re cute because I like you as a person’ kind of way, but in a ‘girls stare at you when you walk by’ kind of way). He lived in a mansion with a pool on the beach, down the street from Robert. He was in all honors classes, and was a shoo-in for every college he applied to. And he was heart-stoppingly good. Almost naively good, like he had wandered out of a fairy tale filled with knights and dragons and maidens in towers. 

Thoros was none of those things. He had no money and no mansion and had long ago learned to rely on his personality and lots of alcohol when it came to wooing ladies. He didn’t have the grades to go to any college of note, and didn’t plan to go to college anyway. And he was selfish and lazy and a drunk who would rather win than fight fair. His life wasn’t a fairy tale, it was gritty and shot through with streaks of self-destructive hedonism and he didn’t have any right to be basking in Beric’s golden aura at all. 

“Come on! I’ll drive you to work,” Beric said, and Thoros got in without a second’s hesitation. Because whether he had a chance or not, whether he had a right or not, he knew he would quite happily follow Beric to the ends of the earth. See? Selfish.

But Beric made it difficult, even if Thoros had wanted to keep his distance. For starters, he always seemed so gosh-darned happy to see him. They sat together at lunch, Beric had taken to driving Thoros to work after school, and had come over each of the last two weekends. He had been horrified that Thoros had never seen so many supposed classics of Westerosi cinema, and they stayed up to the small hours on Friday and Saturday nights watching movies on Beric’s laptop, balanced between their laps, until Beric would fall asleep on Thoros’ shoulder, Thoros nearly holding his breath not to wake him.

“I was thinking,” Beric said now, and cleared his throat. That meant he was nervous. Thoros collected these little tells with an almost religious devotion. 

“Terrible habit. I never do it,” Thoros joked. Beric mock pouted.

“I was thinking I could really use your help with my Valyrian homework. I fell so far behind, missing my classes last spring. Maybe we could trade tutoring? If there’s something you needed help with? I know you work on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays, but maybe we could have a standing study date on Mondays? If it’s not too much trouble?” Beric had a puppy dog expression that was fucking adorable. 

“Sure,” Thoros said, knowing that if R’hllor existed, he was face palming right now. “It’s a date.”

————

It had been four weeks since the party and Stannis knew he had a problem. Everything had gone terribly wrong and he hadn’t the faintest clue how to fix it.

He had never been good with girls. They had the most awful habit of saying things they didn’t mean and then expecting you to guess what they actually meant and then getting angry when you didn’t. It made him rather tongue tied.

Selyse hadn’t made him tongue-tied, but she had absolutely done all those other things. The only reason he didn’t find her as intimidating as the other girls was because she had been so very plain. And even then, she had dumped him anyway. Robert had told him to just say he had dumped her—“A girl with ears like that, who would believe otherwise”—and it had been one of his few pieces of advice that actually worked. But it had not changed the fact that he would never be able to talk to any girl he actually found attractive.

And then, wonder of wonders, one had talked to him. To be fair, first she had threatened him with a carving knife. But he rather liked that. She was fearless and bossy and never confused and always said exactly what she meant. In some ways, she was hardly a girl at all.

And in other ways... she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her strikingly red hair was long and impossibly shiny and every casual toss of her head could entrance him. Her eyes were always lit with whatever cause currently had her attention, almond shaped and a paler blue than his own. Her features were delicate, but she always walked with her chin slightly lifted, as if daring anybody to get in her way. Nobody ever did.

Davos had not liked her at first. He had gotten stubborn about it, in that quiet sullen way he had, that meant Stannis could argue until he was blue in the face and never change his mind. But Melisandre had changed his mind. Stannis wasn’t sure exactly how, but he had seen them once or twice laughing together, and the nervous tension on Davos’ part and the undisguised contempt on Melisandre’s part had faded away.

Stannis had started to think that sophomore year might be a very good year indeed.

And then that blasted party. He had always been terrible at parties, he should have known that some drinks and some dancing weren’t going to change that fundamental fact. But Melisandre had looked up at him and asked him for a kiss and he froze.

Selyse had always told him he wasn’t any good at kissing. And there? When they were both drunk? In front of the world on the dance floor? He didn’t know how he imagined their first kiss, but he had some vague notion of a windswept cliff looking out over the ocean at sunset. Not at one of Robert’s stupid parties with his breath still smelling of jungle juice.

But he had done the polite thing, the gracious thing, the right thing, damn it! And now she barely spoke at all to him except to answer direct questions. He refused to confront her about this. He was right after all, why should he apologize for his actions? He had declined to take advantage of her in their inebriated state and that was something laudable. So why did he feel so guilty?

The rides to school in the morning and lunch period were much quieter, now that it was mostly just him and Davos talking. He wasn’t sure Davos had noticed anything—Melisandre was more than happy to talk to his friend without prompting. Maybe she should have just asked Davos for a kiss.

But he was so tired of feeling like she was angry with him. It finally came to a head one day when Davos was out sick. Without their friend’s amiable willingness to play chauffeur, Stannis had been forced to bum a ride with Robert. He’d been scolded for being late to first period, discovered that he’d forgotten his homework to second period, and sulked into lunch with the realization that he would be eating in utter silence.

Well, he thought, as he sawed at his sandwich with a plastic knife savagely, two could play at that game. She was probably crowing to herself at how badly she’d gotten under his skin, smirking at him from across the table. He glanced up at her.

She didn’t seem like she was smirking. She seemed dreadfully sad. And, for perhaps the first time in his life, Stannis decided it didn’t matter if he was right. (Which he was.) He just wanted to see her smile again.

“I’m sorry if I offended you at Robert’s party,” he said abruptly.

Melisandre looked up at him, that impassive mask she always wore perfectly in place. He could always tell from her eyes though. In her eyes, she looked like a wounded deer.

“It wasn’t that I... that I didn’t... I just got nervous,” he stammered.

“But you did?” She asked looking down, voice carefully tonelessly neutral.

“I did. Very much,” Stannis swallowed. He waited for her to meet his gaze. Finally, her chin came up.

Her eyes weren’t hurting any more. Maybe not dancing either, but they were thoughtful and reflective, and eventually her lips curved into a slight smile.

He smiled back relieved.

This didn’t change the fact that he still wanted to kiss her and still wasn’t sure how. But surely he had time to solve these larger mysteries of the universe.


	15. Davos (Greyjoy Rebellion 1 of 7)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new POV and a darker plot. Let me know what you think?

Davos woke up at five so he could drive his truck down to Iron Port and collect his morning shipment from the wharves. He made good money driving goods that fell off the back of Essosi cargo ships to the various drop points he was given. He was just a kid after all, and nobody suspected the clean quiet boy with the King’s Landing Prep bumper sticker.

This done by six, he swung by Marya’s apartment, which was only two doors down from his. She had five younger sisters and had dropped out of the public high to take care of them. The expression of pure gratitude on her face as he pressed his morning earnings into her hand was worth it.

He thought he might be in love with Marya. She was so no-nonsense and plain spoken, and the things she cared about were things that actually mattered, not liked the hyped up drama at King’s Landing Prep. Plus she looked at him like he was important, and that was a welcome change indeed.

Only Stannis had ever looked at him like that. The rest of his classmates had just seen a scholarship kid, and not one who was particularly bright or talented at sports at that. They would never know how hard he studied, trying to make up for a lifetime of poor education, just to make the average grades he made. 

His next stop was Stormlands to pick up Stannis. Red Hill was closer, but he liked having Stannis to himself on these rides in the morning, even if it was only for twenty minutes. They didn’t talk much, but it was the companionable silence of friends who already knew what the other was thinking.

It had been Stannis who had convinced him to apply for KLP, when he knew he didn’t have a prayer of getting in. He had met him in Flea Bottom, getting slowly backed in by two older boys who had their eyes on his wallet. Davos knew one of them—not a dangerous fellow, just desperate. But Davos had pitied the boy, stiff with fury, who could see exactly what was about to unfold and was powerless to prevent it. Davos had caused a diversion. Upset a crate of onions and as they rolled into the mix, Stannis had taken advantage of his opponents’ distraction to flee.

He had gotten lost of course. And Davos had helped him out there too, and by the end of the afternoon he had been impressed by his new friend’s stoic determination. Not nearly as impressed as he would be a day later, of course, when Stannis had showed up with a dozen brilliant ideas to make some money to pay back the grocer whose onions they had upset.

Thus, on a bedrock of onions and debts repaid, their friendship was built.

It had survived discovering that Stannis was a Baratheon. It had survived Stannis dragging him to a new school with kids who were pricks, it had survived the arrival and subsequent departure of the obnoxious Selyse Florent. It survived the arrival of Melisandre Asshai.

Melisandre was a Red. A Red from Red Hill, as fire-worshipping as you could get. People from Flea Bottom didn’t like the Reds. They were dirt poor, mostly foreign, many didn’t even speak Common. They kept an enormous fire burning at their temple at all hours of the night, and when the wind blew wrong, all of Flea Bottom smelled of smoke.

Many of them practiced animal sacrifice, which was illegal in King’s Landing. They were always setting fires places they shouldn’t and causing commotions. Everybody knew you didn’t cross Reds, even the young ones or the strung out ones. You mugged a Red and any others in the vicinity would attack you. When children went missing, people in Flea Bottom muttered that they had been fed to the red god’s fire.

Stannis didn’t know these things. It’s not like KLP had many Reds. That girl Kinvara was one, but she had her daddy’s money to cocoon her from the kinds of whispers most Reds brought with them. But when Melisandre and her older brother had showed up last year, Davos had known they were the real deal, Red Hill Reds. Temple scholarships, temple-subsidized housing, the whole kit and kaboodle.

But somehow he and Stannis had ended up in Red Hill, in the projects, sitting on a couch in a hallway for an entire afternoon with Melisandre Asshai. He knew Stannis was smitten. Knew it and resented it, and resented it all the more because the Asshais didn’t seem so bad. It turned out Red Hill was not terribly different from Flea Bottom, if smokier, with a lot more red clothing.

So fine, he was wrong, Stannis was right, Stannis could note it in whatever little book he kept of lifetime scores.

That was why he now steered his truck back across twenty minutes of traffic to pull up to the same apartment building. Melisandre was waiting for them, wearing one of her trademark red dresses that you wouldn’t think a temple approved of. He couldn’t imagine Marya wearing something like that. 

“Thoros coming?” Davos said hopefully as Melisandre clambered into what passed for a backseat row. His truck was made for deliveries, not ferrying Stannis’ lady friends around, he had often told Selyse sternly.

“When last seen, he was not yet out of bed,” Melisandre sniffed. Although this was the most frequent outcome, Davos was a little disappointed. Her brother seemed like a good enough sort, in the Robert Baratheon mold, and his presence kept Davos from feeling like too much of a third wheel.

Still conversation flowed pleasantly enough. Melisandre and Davos both had Cressen for Literature, and argued good naturedly about his merits. Davos didn’t think there was anything wrong with a teacher being a little boring. Stannis was in AP Lit with Ebrose and had recently been told that his creative fiction lacked artistic flourish. The criticism had stung him, and he brought it up repeatedly through the course of the drive. 

Only seniors were actually allowed to park at the school. Most students parked in a variety of overflow lots several blocks away. Davos had befriended a local pawn shop owner nearby, however, who let them park in the vacant lot behind the store. That saved them a good ten minutes on their morning walk, and Davos never had to worry about his truck getting dinged.

Today all of them were out of the car and halfway across the lot when disaster struck.

With an obnoxious roar of exhaust, three motorcycles screeched into the lot and posted up near the entrance. The riders still had their helmets on, but there was no question who they were.

There were four Greyjoy boys and they were all trouble. Balon, Euron, Victarion and Aeron, all born one after the other, less than a year apart between them. Perhaps their mother hadn’t been looking forward to a fifth babe in five years, because after Aeron was born she split. Or maybe their father decided she had outlived her usefulness. The Greyjoys ran Iron Port. Not in the way the other ‘first families’ did, through charities and fancy businesses and loads of money. The Greyjoy family ran the organized crime syndicate that controlled the lucrative black market shipping business. In Flea Bottom, you stayed away from Greyjoy goons.

The boys weren’t any better. Balon was mean, Euron was crazy, Victarion a hulking brute and Aeron sly. Oldest to youngest, their coloring looked like a pen gradually running out of ink. Balon had dark brown hair, Euron light brown hair, Victarion blond and Aeron’s so blond it was nearly white. But they all had the same odd flat gray eyes. The kids at school called them squid eyes and called the Greyjoys squids behind their backs. They didn’t remind Davos of any squids he had ever seen. They reminded Davos of sharks.

Balon was a senior, so his motorcycle was no doubt ensconced in the senior parking lot. But here were Euron, Victarion and Aeron, helmets off now, laughing amongst themselves and blocking the entrance of the lot.

Davos tried to catch Stannis or Melisandre’s eye, but they didn’t seem to have registered the danger. There was a chain link fence around the lot, so the only way out would be passing within an arm’s length of the three. Maybe it would be fine. Maybe the Greyjoys would keep their mouths shut for once in their wretched lives, or maybe Stannis would have the sense to realize that even three on three, they were badly outmatched. Melisandre, her many other qualities aside, would be a liability. Davos himself was almost as useless in fights. Stannis could certainly take Aeron, but Victarion Greyjoy was the second biggest sophomore after Sandor Clegane and Euron Greyjoy was a junior and also very very crazy.

Five yards away. Three yards away.

“I’ve never had an Essosi. You reckon they taste different?” Victarion Greyjoy said to Euron and Aeron, his big stupid face lighting up with a dull malice as the others chuckled. Fuck.

Stannis stopped, his nostrils flaring in anger, almost white. But then, by the Mother’s grace (or maybe the red god’s), Melisandre took his arm and tugged him on, sparing the trio only the faintest eye roll of disdain. Melisandre passed and then Stannis passed, and now Davos was passing and his knees were nearly knocking in relief.

And then Euron Greyjoy moved. So quickly Davos barely registered it—he gave a shout of alarm, saw Stannis take a step back toward him—and then his arm was twisted up behind his back, a stabbing pain through his shoulder blade, and Euron Greyjoy had a knife at his throat.

“Let’s find out,” Euron said, his voice light and cruel and tickling Davos’ ear. Stannis stood frozen, half way between Melisandre and Davos. Melisandre too had stopped, her face completely blank. “Victarion, kiss the girl and let us know.”

Victarion and Aeron appeared equally flummoxed by the sudden turn of events. Victarion’s mouth was hanging partly open, as if whatever limited brain cells he possessed had been short-circuited. Aeron had gone stiff, eyes flickering around the group, clearly ready to run.

If Euron kills me, Davos realized, with a sickening twist in his belly. Aeron thinks Euron might kill me.

“Victarion,” Euron said again, and the warning in his tone was enough to make both brothers fall in line. Aeron relaxed, and Victarion lumbered toward Melisandre.

There was a twitch from Stannis as Victarion passed within easy grabbing distance.

“NO!” Melisandre snapped, eyes on Davos. She still looked completely calm, but Davos realized she was frightened. Melisandre, who looked at Sandor Clegane like he was something to be scraped off her boot. “Stannis, it’s fine, it’s okay,” she said, but her voice shook.

“See Victarion, she likes you,” Euron purred from behind him, clearly taking great delight in the tortured indecision on Stannis’ face. Not delight, pleasure, Davos realized with a shiver of revulsion as he felt something poking into the small of his back.

Victarion gave a grunt of acknowledgement. He reached Melisandre, grabbed a handful of hair to pull her face up, and kissed her quickly. It wasn’t quite a peck, but it certainly wasn’t much more. Davos saw Stannis’ shoulders drop ever so slightly.

“Don’t tell me that’s how you kiss girls,” Euron said. “Maybe we should trade places.” 

Victarion was staring at Euron behind him, something between annoyance and fear on his face. 

“No, I’ll do it,” he said finally, strands of Melisandre’s bright red hair still dangling from one hand like so many puppet strings.

He grabbed her by the chin, squeezing, forcing her lips to part, and then leaned down again. This was a significantly lengthier kiss, and as measured by the thudding pulse in Davos’ throat against the cold of the blade, against the spiraling ache in his shoulder, against the feeling of… Euron against his back, it was a small eternity.

“Iron born taste better,” Victarion announced, dropping Melisandre, pushing her slightly away from him. There was a pause, as everyone held their breath, waiting for Euron’s judgment. 

Then Davos was falling forward as Euron dropped him, landing painfully on his knees. Embarrassingly, he felt tears welling up. It was just the surprise of the fall, that was all. Not that the fucking psycho had used him to humiliate his friends, that he thought he was going to die, that he had been helpless.

Euron stood, tossing his knife and catching it.

“I’ll give you lot a ten second head start. If I can still you see when it’s over, we’ll get Aeron’s opinion.”

That was all Davos needed. He pushed up and started sprinting, praying that Stannis would get the message. He wasn’t worried about Melisandre—she was at least five paces in front of him, their feet pounding the pavement in a desperate attempt to outrun what had just happened.


	16. Melisandre (Greyjoy Rebellion 2 of 7)

Her first kiss with a boy. Her first light-blasted kiss with a boy was with Victarion fucking Greyjoy. Not Stannis, even though they had come so close, and he had basically admitted he wanted to, and she had waited so patiently. Victarion. Greyjoy. Melisandre wanted to scream. She wanted to scream and then spit and then gargle with acid until her lips and her tongue burned off and she no longer had to feel his disgusting slimy tongue in her mouth. 

She wasn’t upset, she was furious, and the rage gave her a sort of divine clarity. Victarion Greyjoy was dog shit. Lower than dog shit. He would get his. It was Euron she was worried about, Euron who had threatened Davos and humiliated Stannis, he was dangerous and he had hurt her friends and she didn’t want to get even with him, she wanted to end him.

“Are you alright?” She asked Davos when he finally caught up at the flagpole, hands on his knees panting. He nodded, too winded to speak.

“Good. Me too,” she said, even though she wasn’t quite sure that was true.

“I’ll kill him,” Stannis snarled, stomping over. He was shaking, he was so angry, and Melisandre briefly thought he was having an epileptic fit. “Not just him. I’ll destroy that entire family. I’ll tell Robert, we’ll drive them out of this damn school. Victarion Greyjoy can crawl in the dirt and beg us for forgiveness. He will when I’m through.”

Davos and Melisandre exchanged a glance. Stannis did not seem entirely sane. Melisandre took him by both shoulders firmly, waited for him to look at her. Finally he did, and she could see the intensity of the shame in his eyes, that he hadn’t stopped him, that he hadn’t known what to do.

“You will take care of him. I know you will,” she said calmly. Gradually his breathing slowed. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. She felt a flash of anger at the Greyjoys that he would even say it, that he would even feel pain for something they had done.

“I’m fine. Davos is fine,” she said. Davos nodded.

“It was all them, you know that,” Davos added softly. Stannis swallowed, gave a jerky bob of his head. Melisandre let go. 

“I have to go to class,” she announced. “Davos, do you have him?”

Davos gave her a look like he’d been looking out for Stannis for longer than she had been in this country, which was true. Melisandre acknowledged it with a faint smile.

Advanced Foreign Language was first period. She was actually quite early. Jaqen H’gar was already there. She ignored him. He ignored her. At 7:40, the buses arrived. She gave it ten minutes for gossip to circulate, for the Iron born to spread the news of what the Greyjoys had done. At 7:50 exactly, the door slammed open.

“Are you hurt,” Thoros blurted. 

“No,” Melisandre began, but before she could say anything else, he had crushed her into a hug. They didn’t really do hugs, but she let herself enjoy it for a second, to remind herself that she was safe, that she had this under control.

“Okay, stop it,” she said when she had had enough. He let go.

“What can I do?”

“It was Euron Greyjoy,” she told him. “He put a knife to Davos’ throat. He made Victarion… do what he did.”

Thoros raised his eyebrows, eyes cold.

“He did?” Voice flat and neutral. But they understood each other.

“He did.”

Thoros took her by the wrist, hand squeezing, in a fireman’s grip. The same way he would pull her up to their treehouse in Lys, when she had been small and he had been big and strong and invincible. She wasn’t sure when that had changed. Norvos, maybe.

“I’ll take care of it,” he said. 

“Lord of Light defend him,” she said in Valyrian. She tapped her head, her heart, Thoros’ head, his heart, in the old blessing, though she felt him flinch. Let him flinch, the Lord of Light would defend him anyway. She did not want to send her brother into the darkness, but there were some things she could not do herself, and some things she would not ask of Stannis.

The chair at the front of the room creaked, and they both turned to look at Jaqen H’gar. He looked back at them, and then pointedly turned another page in the book.

\----

When Melisandre sat down at lunch, Davos was already there. Stannis was not.

“Where’s Stannis?” She asked. Davos jerked his head at Center Table. Odd. Stannis never sat there.

He was sitting next to Robert. His jaw was set stubbornly, and he was gazing with intense hatred at Balon Greyjoy. Robert was talking too quietly to be heard over the dull roar of the cafeteria. But he too was clearly perturbed, evidenced by the number of accusatory finger jabs at Balon. Balon sat sullenly, looking at Robert with something approaching contempt.

At the Iron Port table, the largest and smallest Greyjoys were sitting side by side, exchanging nervous glances. Only Euron seemed unbothered, leaning his chair back, his arm casually draped over the chair next to him. All three were watching Center Table, Victarion and Aeron with the air of spectators at a horror movie and Euron as if he were at a farce.

Suddenly, Robert slammed his fist on the table and stood up, his chair toppling over. The crash created a deafening silence in the cafeteria.

“ARE YOU CALLING MY BROTHER A LIAR?” He roared, a vein bulging in his neck. He was often called the Stag King, after the Stormsend Shipping logo, but now he resembled nothing so much as an enraged bull.

Balon Greyjoy likewise stood, taking the time to slide his seat under the table with a sneer.

“I’m saying this has shit to do with your brother and everything to do with your ego. You don’t like us. You’ve never liked us. Think we’re beneath you and so you’ve been looking for a way to boot us,” Balon snarled, every last syllable clearly distinct in the cafeteria. He was playing to his Iron born supporters, Melisandre realized, knowingly or unknowingly, and getting a few nods back. It didn’t hurt that most of what he was saying was true.

“But if you really care, then I suppose,” Balon looked up at Robert through his greasy brown locks, a thin humorless smile baiting his adversary. “Yes, I am calling your brother a liar.”

Chaos erupted. Robert dove for Balon, hitting him hard in the solar plexus and driving him to the ground. The Iron Port table, clearly waiting for such a signal, swarmed to their leader’s defense. The other students at Center Table were scrambling backwards to avoid getting caught in the melee, with the exception of Ned Stark and Stannis, who were fighting to get to Robert.

Iron born and Stormlanders around the cafeteria were getting up, and it was anybody’s guess what might have happened had Barristan Selmy, the teacher on duty, not blown his whistle. 

Immediately students slunk back to their seats. Beneath the scrum at the center, Selmy hauled out Robert and Balon by the collars of their shirts. 

“Who started this?!” Selmy snapped, and both boys glared at each other, saying nothing. 

“Robert threw the first punch sir,” Euron Greyjoy said in an oily voice, suddenly at Selmy’s elbow. Selmy glanced at him skeptically. 

“Ask Ned if you don’t believe me,” Euron gave the teacher a sickly sweet smile. Melisandre ground her teeth. Ned Stark would never lie to a teacher. 

“Did Robert throw the first punch?” Selmy asked Ned sternly. Ned turned dark red, glaring at Euron, and then finally nodded tightly. 

“Please see me after school to discuss your punishment, Mr. Baratheon,” Selmy said, giving Robert’s collar a shake. “Now if I let you both go, are you going to act like civilized men?” 

“Yes,” both boys ground out. Selmy released them, and Balon took a skip backwards as if ready for Robert to attack again. 

“At the flagpole. After school,” Robert growled. Selmy looked disapproving but Robert was already twisting free of the throng and marching out the door of the cafeteria. 

Such challenges between Center Table were uncommon. The last had been last spring, between Robert and Rhaegar. Everyone knew how that had ended. But Balon had little incentive to fight one on one as Rhaegar did. Dragonstone was a small neighborhood in comparison to Stormlands—Iron Port in contrast was larger and with a reputation for being good in a fight. 

Balon cast a last dark look at Robert before slouching to the Iron Port table, ignoring Euron who followed easily at his heels. Melisandre tapped her teeth meditatively, wondering what his play was. Davos fidgeted in his seat. 

“This is all well and good but, Balon wasn’t even there!” Davos finally snapped. 

Melisandre looked over. 

“Robert’s gone and started a civil war! He doesn’t care about us, he barely cares about Stannis. He just thinks that Balon’s family insulted his family!” Davos growled, drumming his fingers on the table with a frustrated anger. “I don’t care about Balon or the entire stinking Iron born crew that follow him. It was Euron, Victarion and Aeron, and I want them to pay!” 

“Trust Stannis,” Melisandre shrugged. “I have a feeling things will work to our advantage.”

“A feeling, huh?” Davos looked at her skeptically. “Since when do you get feelings?’

“I was trying to put it in a way that wouldn’t make you uncomfortable,” Melisandre gave back. “I trust the Lord of Light. All that happens is as the Lord wills it.” She looked back at the Iron born table, a feeling of cold certainty in her bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and if you have the time, I'd love to hear from you! Your comments and kudos really encourage me to keep writing this story, and sometimes it's a lonely slog!


	17. Ned/Jaime (Greyjoy Rebellion 3 of 7)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have no idea how much a couple of good reviews cheer me up! Thanks so much to everybody who's been leaving comments and kudos. I'm proud to announce that I just finished Chapter 50! Yup, we're in for the long haul... I try to stay away from Starks and Targs in this story, but I hope Ned's half of the chapter suggests that they are all alive and well with rich interior lives and adventures happening off screen.

Ned swallowed as he watched Robert storm out. He had to find him, apologize to him. Robert would understand, he always did. But it still had to be said, that he never meant to cause trouble for Robert. Then he had to speak to the Northerners, feel out who might be open to a fight. 

Alone, the Stormlands would not beat Iron Port, but it would be close. A few allies could tip the balance. But he had to be careful—nobody must feel obligated to the Starks to fight. The Iron born were vicious in a brawl and known for bringing weapons to fist fights. Besides, this was not the North’s battle. He did not want anyone who did not want the fight on its own merits. 

“Ned,” a light touch at his arm. Lyanna looked at him, wintry gray eyes unusually gentle. 

“Don’t go,” she said. “This isn’t your fight.” 

“No,” Ned said evenly. “It’s Robert’s. And that’s why I have to go.” 

She flinched at that, the unspoken reminder. He had never hidden from her the fact that he thought Robert deserved better than she gave him. He loved his sister, but he that didn’t mean he would blindly support her. 

“It’s not even Robert’s fight,” she said, a little bitterly. “It’s Stannis’. Why should so many people get hurt because some girl got caught kissing someone she shouldn’t?” 

Ned smiled sadly, recognizing that question from another year and another place. He tugged her chestnut hair in a playful gesture. 

“We all know it was more complicated than that. And this time is different.” 

“I bet they say that every time,” Lyanna tossed her head and left him. 

He caught up to Robert before Calculus. 

“Robert!” The boy turned, from where he’d been having an intense conversation with a Durrandon. 

“Just do as we discussed,” Robert said quietly, patting the Stormlander on the back. “How are you Ned?” 

“Robert, I’m sorry,” Ned started. 

“For what? Don’t tell me you’re not coming to the fight?” Robert raised his eyebrows. 

“Of course I’ll be there!” Ned said surprised. 

“Then I don’t see what there is to be sorry about.” 

“I’m sorry I told Selmy you threw the first punch,” Ned blushed. 

“But Eddard,” Robert gave him a mockingly stern look and leaned close as if he were sharing a secret. “I did!” 

Ned had to give a snort of laughter at that. 

“C’mon, let’s hope Jon Arryn hasn’t heard about the suspension. Otherwise he’ll call my father and my goose is cooked,” Robert slung an arm over Ned’s shoulders. 

Jon Arryn hadn’t heard, and school proceeded apace. Ned had let it be known that any Northerners who wanted to fight could find him after last period back in the cafeteria. He’d been about to go there himself, when he was waylaid by Catelyn Tully of all people. 

“Catelyn,” he mumbled. He had made a fool of himself hanging all over her at the last party. 

“Will you be fighting with Robert?” She asked him, her blue eyes seeming over large in her pale face. 

“I will be,” he said. There was a pause as Catelyn looked at him, biting her lip. 

“Be careful,” she said finally, and Ned smiled and she smiled, and he never wanted the moment to end. 

But of course it had to, and when he entered the cafeteria, he felt reality set back in. 

Five. There were five northerners waiting for him at the table. He hoped that would be enough. 

Greatjon Umber was there, lazing in his chair. He loved a fight, it didn’t matter who was doing the fighting or why. 

Jory Cassel was there, looking a bit nervous but determined. Ned had said not to fight for the Starks, but Jory was as loyal as they came and he should have known Jory would come anyway. 

Rickard Karstark, looking grumpy. He was Ned’s cousin, and would feel duty-bound to show even if he had always gotten along well with Balon Greyjoy. 

Roose Bolton. Quite the opposite. Loathed the Greyjoys and all Iron born, and was probably here for the express purpose of getting to hit a few. Strangely, Ned felt his mood lift a bit at the sight of Roose. Roose was not known for picking the losing side. 

Finally, Jorah Mormont. The freshman was just about invisible if he stood sideways. Ned frowned. He didn’t know why Jorah was here, but he knew this fight was dangerous. All the others were seniors except Greatjon, and the junior was ironically the biggest of the lot. 

Still, Ned thought with a wry grin, he didn’t want to offend one of his five most loyal supporters. 

“Mormont,” he walked up, clapping him on the shoulder. “I confess, I’m a tad surprised to see you with these degenerates.” 

Greatjon burped and Rickard rolled his eyes. Jorah beamed. 

“But isn’t your dad the deputy commissioner? I don’t want you to get in trouble with him on my behalf,” Ned tried to give him a graceful out. 

“Oh not on your behalf, Ned,” Jorah shook his head earnestly. “It was my friend Thoros’ sister that the Greyjoy hurt. I know you said not to fight for you, but you didn’t say anything about not fighting for her.” 

Ned had to smile. 

“Well promise me you won’t take on anyone much bigger than you. I don’t want to end up on your father’s bad side,” he said, conceding defeat. 

“I promise,” Jorah said, sounding determined and fearless and Ned wished again he could send him home. 

“Hi, I’m here for the Alliance of Elves and Men?” A familiar voice drawled. Ned looked over his shoulder, to where Jaime Lannister was walking toward them. 

“You’re joking,” Ned said flatly. 

“Obviously. Not a Tolkien fan?” Jaime smirked. 

“You... Want to fight for Robert?” Ned ignored the jibe, and pushed ahead. The thought was absurd. Jaime fought for nobody but himself. 

“He’s just such an inspiring leader,” Jaime sighed mock dramatically. “His cry to arms—are you calling my brother a liar?—it spoke to me. Truly. After all, I too have a brother, and people often call him a liar. Of course, they’re usually right.” 

Ned flushed and stood. He didn’t care if Jaime looked down on him. But Jaime didn’t get away with insulting his friends in front of them. 

“Easy Stark,” Jaime held his hands out in the universal peace gesture. “I’m only playing,” he bared his teeth in what was meant to be a conciliatory smile. 

“Perhaps you should look for a playground then,” Ned said stiffly. “We aren’t here for japes.” 

The door swung open again, this time so hard it slammed against the wall with a crack. Gregor Clegane stomped over, coming to a rest a pace behind Jaime’s left side. Behind him, Sandor Clegane made his way to Jaime’s right side, as far from his brother as he could manage while still appearing to be approximately on the same team. 

“Sorry boys,” Jaime cocked his head at Ned. “It appears our presence isn’t wanted after all.” 

Ned ground his teeth. Jaime on his own might could be dismissed. He was a good fighter, but Ned considered him good to take down three or four Iron born at most. Either Clegane could take down five easy. Both Cleganes... he didn’t have to glance at his Northern brethren to know Roose Bolton was staring a hole into his skull. 

“I apologize if I misspoke Lannister,” Ned said through gritted teeth. “You all, of course, are very welcome.” 

Jaime gave a smile of faint amusement. 

“Funny, that’s what I thought you’d say.”

\----

Jaime hummed a little tune to himself as the great Northern-Western Alliance marched to reinforce the Stormlanders. 

Perhaps it was crass to think this about a massive brawl that would undoubtedly leave friends and foes in the hospital alike, but he couldn’t be more pleased with how things were turning out. He had been annoyed, of course, when Robert and Balon had erupted into a massive argument and then Robert had spilled Jaime’s drink en route to throttle Balon. What did you expect from an uncultured lout who could only communicate through violence? 

Then, although the specifics of the argument never became clear to Jaime, it became clear that Robert would be calling on the might of the Stormlands to address them. Brienne would answer the call. Never mind that she was a freshman and a girl, her ridiculous code of honor would demand it.

That was one of many things he had learned about Brienne. He had been befuddled at first as to why she didn’t simply punch him again if his presence was so troubling to her. Only to discover that she actually harbored an enormous amount of guilt about the whole pool fiasco and considered herself if not in his debt, then at least... morally obligated not to punch him.

She did consider herself in Renly’s debt, and by extension was quite protective of the entire Baratheon family. The idea of either Robert or Stannis needing a massively awkward freshman girl defending their honor had been amusing at the time, but then here they were.

He learned these things largely by making jokes and seeing what got under her skin. She was very self-conscious about her appearance but more likely to wince than blush if he made any unkind remarks. The idea that he might be romantically interested in her flustered her to no end. Jokes about Renly were enough to make her shove him (not punch, never punch), but by and large she treated everything else he said with a simple mute disdain.

She would be at this fight and he would look out for her and there was simply nothing she could do about it. The idea of absolving himself for his unkindness at the pool was tremendously appealing to him—almost as appealing as the idea of Brienne thinking herself further in his debt. He could imagine the repressed fury glinting in those enormous sapphire eyes. Truly spectacular.

First, of course, he had to convince Ned Stark to let him play. Self declared warden of schoolyard skirmishes, or at least this one. Jaime found Robert tiresome but he loathed Ned. With his pretentious holier-than-thou airs and earnest appeals to righteousness. He had made a big show of only asking the Northerners to fight if they believed in the justness of the cause. Psh! Jaime believed in the justness of his fist in Euron Greyjoy’s face. 

A good point that one. Jaime also loathed Euron Greyjoy who looked at Cersei not with the hopeless lust that afflicted so many other boys in their grade but with a sort of casual contemplation. As if he could have that if he wanted it, and for reasons Jaime couldn’t fully articulate, that made his blood boil.

So it was decided, he would defeat the bad guy and save the warrior maiden, all if Ned Stark could only be convinced to get off his high horse. Well Ned Stark wasn’t the only one with a neighborhood of lackeys to call upon.

“Right, you two,” Jaime inserted himself between the Clegane brothers, who had been conducting a snarling argument and appeared on the brink of fighting each other. “We’re fighting with Robert and laying waste to the Iron born. I expect to see you in the cafeteria after seventh period, where we’ll join Ned Stark’s merry men.”

Gregor Clegane, a monstrously tall seven foot giant with piggy little eyes that seemed disproportionately small for his face, said something completely unintelligible in his usual growl-mumble. Jaime looked at Sandor, who was looking mutinous, for translation.

“He says he doesn’t care if Victarion Greyjoy wants to get his dick wet. That if Stannis Baratheon is too weak to hold on to his woman and Victarion Greyjoy is too stupid not to take her somewhere without witnesses, none of it is any skin off his nose.”

There was a pause while Jaime processed that charming foray into the terrifying primordial ooze that was Gregor Clegane’s mind.

“I don’t care if you don’t care,” Jaime said. “I’m fighting for Robert this afternoon. But if I get injured, and you weren’t there watching my back, I assure you, my father will care. Tywin Lannister,” Jaime said slowly, watching the gears of Gregor’s brain chew that name, “will care. Deeply.”

Gregor Clegane nodded, a jerky motion, but one at least that required no translation. Jaime turned to Sandor.

“Can I expect you there as well?

Sandor huffed, pushing off the wall and stalking off. 

“I was going anyway,” he informed him without looking back. 

Everything after that proceeded exactly according to plan. Ned had wrung his hands and rolled his eyes, but nobody turned down the Cleganes in a fight. 

The Stormlanders were milling around the flagpole, muttering amongst themselves. Robert clearly hadn’t finished receiving his tongue-lashing from Selmy yet. Grimly, the Northerners (plus Jaime and his bodyguards) joined them. Jaime spotted Brienne, talking to a Penrose. She saw him and glared, then marched over.

“What are you doing here?” Brienne hissed. “You’re not from Stormlands.”

“And you’re a woman,” Jaime answered, enjoying this game. 

“I can fight!” She snarled, balling her fists.

“Trust me, I know,” he grinned, rubbing his jaw as if it still hurt him. “But I can fight too.”

“But you are under no obligation to fight,” Brienne gritted out. “You’re from Westerlands.”

“And you are under no obligation because you’re a woman,” Jaime explained slowly. “You’re fighting because you want to fight. Because Renly is your friend. You want to help your friend. Well you’re my friend. I want to help you.”

Brienne stared at him a moment dumbstruck.

“We’re not friends,” she said flatly, her tone of indifferent disdain back in full force.

“Give me time wench,” Jaime winked at her. “I’ll wear you down yet.” 

He scanned the crowd. Most of the Stormlanders were clumped together. He was surprised to see Beric Dondarrion was both fighting and not with the other Stormlanders. He was standing next to Thoros Asshai, Jorah Mormont, and… Sandor Clegane? Jaime looked behind him, confirming that there was now only one Clegane at his side. He looked back at Sandor and sneered. Sandor flipped him off.

Robert emerged from the school, glowering, jogging to the flagpole in light bounds. He looked around, and asked the obvious question that was on everybody’s minds.

“Where are the Iron born?”

That was when one of the Durrandon clan rounded the bend at full sprint.

“They’re running!” He shouted. “They’re making for the wharves!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was a lot of set up, but the next THREE chapters are pretty much pure action, so get excited to watch me struggle through trying to narrate a fight scene or six. Let me know what you think!


	18. Stannis (Greyjoy Rebellion 4 of 7)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which the author discovers that naval battles translate poorly to high school AUs... Enjoy!

Stannis looked at his cell phone patiently, as Davos drummed his fingers on the steering wheel not so patiently. It would ring. He was taking an enormous risk with this gamble, but it was a calculated risk. The Greyjoys would not want to fight with the numbers they had at KLP. They would take advantage of Robert being held up by Selmy to withdraw their fighters to the docks, where they could count on public school kids returning home to swell their ranks. Far from home, the Stormlands and their allies would be outnumbered and outmaneuvered and would rout.

Unless Davos and Stannis tracked their caravan and moved to intercept, trapping them on Fair Isle Road. That would buy Robert and his forces time to catch up, and the fight would take place on neutral ground, with even numbers, the Iron-born demoralized and scrambling. More than that, Stannis would be the first into the fray, would be able to reach Victarion Greyjoy unhindered by other Stormlanders seeking glory. He would pay. 

That is, unless Stannis had miscalculated. In that case, Stannis and Davos would miss the fight entirely. Just then the phone rang. They both glanced at it.

Stannis was too mature to give Robert an obnoxious ring tone, but the picture that popped up was a particularly unflattering mid-sneeze shot.

“Update?” He answered the phone brusquely.

“Sam… Sameth… Sammael Durrandon saw them heading South. You were right, they’ll have to take Fair Isle. Hold them,” Robert ordered. Then a pause. “And save some for me.” Stannis permitted himself a smirk and hung up the phone without responding.

“Let’s go,” he said to Davos, and the engine revved.

The truck lurched forward, out of the lot where this whole debacle had started only that morning. 

Davos cut toward the port and Stannis gave a slow sigh of relief. There had been a possibility of course that they would take a different path. South along Fair Isle was the most direct route due to the lack of traffic but there was no traffic because it was an isolated dirt road with the water on one side and a junk yard on the other before it got to the wharves. 

They were taking Great Wyk, which dead-ended into Fair Isle, the only turn off point before the wharves. Davos stopped just short of the intersection, his pick up truck concealed by some over grown bramble bushes. For this to work well, they had to wait as long as possible to pull the trigger. 

“And your brother will pay me back if they T-bone the truck?” Davos asked nervously. 

“Of course he will,” Stannis said. Davos looked around sadly. 

“I like this truck,” he mumbled. 

“The Iron born are unlikely to want to damage their own cars. And if they do, I’ll get you a new truck.” 

“A better truck,” Davos jutted his jaw out. 

“A better truck,” Stannis agreed smoothly. Davos seemed more worried about the truck than the driver. 

They waited in silence after that, both craning their necks to see through the branches down Fair Isle. Finally, a cloud of dust on the road. 

Four motorcycles, followed by a train of seven or eight cars, on the horizon. Even at this distance, Stannis could pick out which rider was Victarion, based solely on his larger size. Soon. 

“Now?” Davos asked nervously. 

“Just a little bit,” Stannis held up his hand, letting them get even closer. Eight cars, approximately five per car. Four Greyjoys. The Stormlands had gathered twenty-five before they left. He wondered how many Northerners Ned had brought. 

“Now,” he dropped his hand. Davos pulled the truck across Fair Isle Road, completely blocking passage. He jerked the emergency break, and locked the doors. 

Only minutes later, the first motorcycle pulled up with a screech. The rider dismounted, flipped his helmet and hurried to the driver’s side window, cupping his hands to peer in. 

It was Aeron, and when he saw Davos and Stannis looking calmly back at him, he flinched and ran back towards the others. 

The cars were pulling up now, and from the waving of hands and gesticulating, Stannis could tell that Balon was in fact trying to convince one of the drivers to ram the truck. 

The issue was there was simply no off-road to go around. The iron fence ringing the junkyard blocked the land side and the cliffs blocked the sea side. Now trapped, the eight cars and four motorcycles were sitting ducks for the approaching Stormlanders. And since Stannis was already here, the Greyjoys knew the Stormlanders were coming. 

But none of the Iron born had Baratheon money. Fight or no fight, nobody seemed willing to total their car in the name of victory. 

Euron and Victarion were now approaching, circling the truck. Stannis ground his teeth. He just needed to wait for enough reinforcements so that nobody would be coming to Victarion’s aid. He was so fucking close. 

It was impossible to hear what they were saying, which based on the lewd gestures was of a taunting nature. Then they disappeared around the back of the truck. There was a sudden and enormous lurch as somebody tried to heave the truck forward and the emergency break held. 

“If the break fails they’ll send us straight into the ocean,” Davos muttered grimly, looking at the cliffs just feet ahead. “I hope you can swim.” 

“Realistically we wouldn’t clear the rocks at the base of the bluff. We would die on impact,” Stannis said. 

There was another lurch. And then the first car appeared in the distance. It was large and spotlessly white—it was a Range Rover—was that Jaime Lannister? And Gregor Clegane riding shotgun? There were a bunch of Stormlanders piled into the back, at least four or five, and already the Iron born were shifting into defensive mode. 

Balon was ordering the Iron born cars into their own barricade. Lannister and his advance infantry would have to vault the cars to make it over. People were scrambling to get the cars in place, to block the narrow gap between the first car and the junkyard wall with debris. 

Gregor Clegane was already hanging partway out of the Range Rover, and Stannis knew the moment he jumped out, he would be all the distraction needed. 

Jaime came to a screeching halt in front of the makeshift defense, and Gregor swung into action. Literally, swinging off the framework of Lannister’s car and landing on the hood of a Toyota. 

Stannis discretely unlocked the passenger side door. 

“Stay here, it’s safer,” he warned Davos, and then he opened it. 

Immediately his ears were assaulted by Clegane’s war cry. No particular Iron born wanted to confront a giant on higher ground, so with a menacing leer, Clegane launched himself at them from above. 

Stannis shut the door, scanning for his target. Victarion might be the only Iron born who could at least slow Clegane’s rampage, but he doubted that even the Greyjoy was that dumb. 

Sure enough, he saw him heading toward a group of Stormlanders trying to sidle around the blockade. Stannis’ eyes narrowed. 

He broke into a low sprint. Victarion’s back was to him—nobody expected an attack from the Iron born rear—and he put his shoulder down like Robert had drilled into him years ago. 

He collided with Victarion’s lower spine hard, and with a surprised grunt, Victarion went down. 

Getting him down, Stannis quickly discovered, was far easier than keeping him down. Victarion scrambled forward to get out of Stannis’ hold, and Stannis felt his grip slide lower. The Iron born got a hand free and began to clumsily punch at him, aiming for the face but mostly striking glancing blows. Finally, he threw himself backwards, landing hard on Stannis in an attempt to crush him. 

Stunned, Stannis felt his grip weaken. His opponent took the opportunity to go on the attack, twisting so that they were facing each other and grabbing him around the neck. 

As Victarion’s grip tightened, Stannis chopped frantically at his wrist, trying to break the hold. The bigger boy gave a dull bark of amusement at the futility of Stannis’ struggle. His vision was starting to go funny at the edges, Victarion’s harsh features and stringy blond hair shifting in and out of focus. 

His arm flopped to the side, hand scrabbling frantically on the gravel, searching for something, anything. It closed on a rock. 

He smashed the rock into Victarion’s temple, and immediately the pressure on his wind-pipe vanished. Victarion fell backwards, blood streaming from his hair line. He touched it and looked at his hand stupidly, as Stannis gasped for breath. Then, with a roar, Victarion staggered to his feet and charged. 

Stannis was in no position to stand, so he simply took the blow to his chest and latched on, tripping Victarion over his prone body. This time, he was the faster to recover, bringing his rock hard on the Iron born’s chest once, twice, and then on the third time, directly into Victarion’s face. 

There was an audible snap as his nose crunched beneath the rock, and the fight went out of him. 

“STOB! I YIELD,” he howled, his hands trying clumsily to staunch the flow of blood. 

Stannis got to his feet, panting, staring down at the other boy. 

“Beg,” he growled. Victarion looked up at him dumbly, his dirty blond hair clotted, face and hands covered in blood. It was disgusting, and Stannis felt revolted that the pathetic creature in front of him could have caused such grief. 

“Pleath,” Victarion said quietly. “I’ll go, I promith” 

In his mind, Stannis had imagine making him grovel for mercy, but his opponent was already so beaten he found he had no appetite for more. 

“Go. Don’t ever touch her again,” he said flatly. Victarion nodded frantically, and scrambled away.

Stannis turned back to the fight, and threw himself into it with grim relish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have time to write a comment, the question most on my mind is could you follow what was happening action-wise? I tried to take Stannis' surprise attack/naval victory from the books and create some kind of equivalent, but I worry that the surprise attack was hard to follow.


	19. Jaime (Greyjoy Rebellion 5 of 7)

Jaime had never felt so alive. Ducking and weaving through the melee, he tried to keep one eye on the tall blonde head bobbing some ten yards away. Not that Brienne needed his help with the punk she was currently fighting. 

He seemed more inclined to talk than fight, and whatever he was saying was not to Brienne’s liking. She glowered and then hit him with a jab, hook, jab, and with an almost graceful flourish, let him collapse.

“Daddy’s money won’t save you now,” some Iron born scum snarled, charging. Jaime rolled his eyes. He struck first with an elbow and then swept his opponent’s feet out from under him. Then he jumped, landing hard on the boy’s chest. Who said WWE was fake.

The boy got to his feet swaying, clutching his stomach, and then staggered off.

“Come back,” Jaime called sarcastically after him. “You were saying something about my father?”

He ambled back to Brienne, whose opponent had struggled back to his feet.

“I’m at two,” he said. “Are you still working on your first?”

“He’s very stubborn,” Brienne said through gritted teeth as the boy took a wild haymaker that missed entirely. She snorted and landed one of her own on his jaw that launched him backwards onto his butt.

The boy looked around and then doggedly stood back up.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Brienne groaned.

“Allow me,” Jaime gave a mock bow and then grabbed her adversary in a sleeper hold. The boy’s eyes rolled backwards and he passed out almost immediately.

“That’s three for me and none for you,” Jaime grinned.

“You stole my win!” Brienne said outraged.

“You couldn’t put him down. It must be your girlish notions of mercy,” Jaime teased. Brienne scowled at him.

“Look out,” she said tightly.

“Are my victories making you angry?” Jaime smirked.

Two Iron born leaped on him from behind, and Jaime collapsed in a mass of flailing limbs.

“Look out for them,” Brienne rolled her eyes.

Jaime twisted one’s arm behind his back, only to get punched by the other. He growled and head butted that one, only to take another punch. He refused to let go of the one beneath him and was fully prepared to take a third punch when Brienne grabbed his attacker and flung him bodily away from them. 

The boy beneath him pounded the ground in a universal surrender gesture and Jaime let go, panting. 

“Thanks,” he said, looking at Brienne. Was it his imagination or was there the faintest smile?

“Four to one,” she said, and it was most definitely not his imagination. 

Jaime scrambled to his feet and surveyed the field. Most of the Iron-born were backed up against the wall, unable to leave the field but also clearly done fighting. They sat dispiritedly, talking amongst themselves or trying to tend to the injured.

“They’re almost done for,” he announced, and Brienne nodded in agreement. Just then, there was a blast on a horn at the far end of the battle site, where Stannis had blocked off the road with a beat up truck. Apparently the Greyjoys had agreed with his analysis. Three of them could be seen, squeezing their motorcycles through the narrow gap between the truck and the wall.

Jaime grabbed Brienne’s arm and pulled her toward the truck, where Stannis’ friend was still laying on the horn.

“THEY’RE RUNNING!” He roared, the thrill of the fight shooting adrenaline through him. All of the motorcycles had been carefully lifted through the gap, and now Euron was climbing through. The big one, Victarion, was nowhere to be found, but Balon and the little one were still on the wrong side. Jaime put on a burst of speed.

Only to be nearly flattened as Robert charged by in full sprint. At last practice, he’d run the 40-yard dash in under five seconds, but Jaime was willing to bet this was even faster.

Euron saw them coming and sneered, eyes wide and manic. He grabbed his younger brother, now half-way through the gap, and bodily hauled him through by the scruff of the neck. Balon had just gotten a foot in and Euron had grabbed his hand, when Robert struck.

He drove into Balon’s back, smashing him into the junkyard wall. Balon was still struggling to get through, but Euron had abandoned him as a lost cause. The sound of two engines revving and Balon cursing could be heard over the truck’s horn.

His escape attempt foiled, Balon tried to get his leg free only to find it stuck. Pinned against the wall, he was hammered by blow after blow as Robert ferociously beat him.

Jaime slowed to a halt. Ned Stark must have been right behind, because he appeared at his elbow.

“We should stop him,” Ned grimaced.

“You’re welcome to,” Jaime shrugged, making it clear that as far as he was concerned, Robert’s anger management issues were entirely Robert’s problem.

“Robert,” Ned caught his arm and was nearly jerked along for the ride. His grip held though and he dug in his heels.

“Robert, he yields.”

Jaime would have compared the effect to settling a spooked horse. Anyone else would have gotten kicked, but for Ned, Robert stopped, breathing hard. Gradually, the red fog around his eyes lifted.

“He yields?” Robert spat at Balon, who had slid to the ground and was groaning. There was a long pause while Balon glared hatefully at Robert. Than he spat, and a shard of a tooth landed in the dirt. 

“I yield.” 

Robert huffed. There was a crowd around them now, everybody watching to see what he would do. 

He extended a hand sullenly and pulled Balon up. 

“He yields!” He shouted to the Stormlanders, and they cheered. 

Stannis’ friend climbed out of the truck. 

“Are we not going after the other two then?” He asked, brow furrowed. 

“Those cowards!” Robert sneered. “I don’t know that it’s worth the effort.” 

Ned has turned to do a head count of his troops and was frowning. Clearly the count displeased him, because he began again, this time muttering under his breath. “Umber-Bolton-Karstark-Cassel—where is Jorah?” Then when nobody in the immediate vicinity responded, he lifted his voice. 

“Where is Jorah Mormont??” 

“I just saw him,” Dondarrion said, pushing towards Ned. “He was over by the cars talking to Thoros.” 

Jaime scanned disinterestedly. He didn’t see either one. 

“Jorah’s car is missing,” Ned said suddenly. 

“They probably went after the rest of the Greyjoys,” Robert laughed. 

There was a long pause as everybody stared at him. 

“That’s exactly what they did,” Dondarrion said flatly. He turned to Balon. 

“Where were they going?” 

Balon seemed to be weighing the idea of not answering when Robert started to growl. 

“Pyke,” Balon muttered hastily. “We were going to Pyke.” 

There was a bit of a commotion as people decided who was going to continue the chase. The pick up truck was the only car on the right side of the Iron born’s barricade; as many as could fit would go in that, with the rest following in Dondarrion’s car. 

That meant Stannis’ friend driving, Stannis and Robert riding shotgun, Ned, Jory Cassel, Brienne and him squeezed into the back. 

“You’ll have to sit in my lap,” Jaime said. 

“I will not,” Brienne flushed. 

“Then I’ll sit in your lap,” Jaime made to extricate himself. 

“Why does anyone have to sit in anyone’s lap?” Brienne protested stubbornly. 

“Robert is sitting in Stannis’ lap and he doesn’t mind,” Jaime said. Stannis shot him a look of intense annoyance that suggested that Stannis for one minded very much. 

“There’s no room, Tarth,” Cassel piped up. “You can sit on my lap if you’d rather.” 

She scowled. 

“Jaime can sit on my lap,” she said finally, and when they were situated, Jaime gave an extra little wiggle just see to her glare at him. 

By the time they got to Pyke, quite possibly hitting every red light along the way, Jaime was grinding his teeth. His grandmother was a more aggressive driver than Stannis’ friend. If this had been a Westerlander, he would have commandeered the driver’s seat by now. He further wanted to lodge a complaint about Jory Cassel, who was sweaty and bleeding, and grossly invading his personal space. 

Why was Cassel even here?! He should be in Dondarrion’s car with the other Northern lackeys. Jaime kept these thoughts to himself, as he had far less right to be in this car than Cassel did, caring not at all whether Jorah Mormont or Thoros Asshai lived or died. It was all about getting narrative closure, Jaime decided with a smirk. That and some more one on one time with his best girl. He gave another wiggle. 

“Stop squirming!” Brienne hissed. 

“There’s Jorah’s car,” Ned announced, pointing to a rather badly parked Ford. 

They piled out in front of the Pyke, only to discover that the broad oak doors of the building were shut. 

“On three!” Robert set his shoulders to charge the door. The other five did the same, and with a sigh Jaime prepared himself to tackle an immovable object. 

“One... two... THREE!” They charged the door and it lurched badly. “Again!” This time there was the sound of wood snapping. “Again!” Finally the door gave and they all went tumbling through. 

The interior was much darker, and something was on fire. It took Jaime’s eyes a second to adjust. 

There on the floor, a bloody mess, was Euron Greyjoy. And standing over him with a flaming baseball bat—literally a baseball bat that was on fire—was Thoros Asshai.


	20. Thoros (Greyjoy Rebellion 6 of 7)

“And then you threw that guy over your shoulder! He must have flown ten feet!”

“Left here,” Thoros interrupted Jorah’s excited recap of the entire fight. The car swung left, and Thoros grabbed at his seat for balance.

“How long have you had your permit?” He asked, feigning nonchalance.

“Two weeks!” Jorah chirped. “How am I doing?”

“Really well. Right up ahead and let’s use the blinker this time,” Thoros sighed.

His head felt... buzzy. Like it was filled with a thousand angry bees. They’d arrived at the scrum in the middle of the pack, and he’d seen instantaneously that he didn’t have a prayer of getting across the field to Euron. But he’d known he didn’t have to, that that would come later.

Later? It was a weird thought and Thoros didn’t like it. He’d put his head down and tried his best to look out for Beric (although he didn’t seem to need it) and Jorah (who absolutely did). Then the tide was shifting and they were winning, and he could see the Greyjoys huddling. They were going to run. And he was going to follow them. He would have to go the long way back up Fair Isle, but that’s okay, he knew where they were going. (He did? Some part of his mind asked.) Pyke. The old school tavern near the wharves in Iron Port with the big fireplace. He had seen Euron drinking there once on his own tour of King’s Landing’s drinking establishments. That’s where they would be, he knew it in his marrow.

Jorah breezed past every stop sign in King’s Landing, and then they were at Pyke, and sure enough, there were two motorcycles parked out front.

“Look, we don’t know how many people are in there, yeah? I don’t think you should come in unarmed,” Thoros said. “Stay in the car and I’ll be back in a bit.”

This was a really stupid idea. He was walking into a bar full not just of Iron born, but Greyjoy men. He wasn’t going to be able to get close to that psychopath, and he was going to get the shit kicked out of him. The buzziness in his head was getting worse.

He walked through the door. Inside the windowless room, it felt less like a September afternoon and more like a December night. There were a few patrons, definitely Greyjoy thugs, and at the end of the bar, pints of beer in front of them, were Euron and Aeron. He almost turned around, but as he started to turn, he saw the enormous fireplace that dominated one side of the tavern. It burned a brilliant orange-red, the flames licking up the chimney. He felt a sense of calmness. He wasn’t high, not even drunk, but the fire burned in all the right ways. This was where he was meant to be, he trusted that. He saw victory, he saw himself still standing. But first, he saw himself getting a drink.

“Rum and Coke,” Thoros said to the bartender. Down the bar, Aeron spotted him immediately, and started nudging Euron.

“How old are you?” The bartender sneered.

“Older than them,” Thoros jerked his head at the Greyjoys. The bartender raised an eyebrow, but made the drink.

“More rum, less coke,” Thoros advised from his seat. In the corner of his eye, people were moving toward him. The bartender put the drink down in front of him. He took a sip and prepared to take a punch.

Then the door opened again. It was Jorah, with a baseball bat. Shit. He was looking around, his blonde hair still perfectly combed, looking all the world like he was twelve. Thoros internally groaned, but stood up.

“Hi Jorah,” he said, as if every person in the bar had not been staring at them. “Shall we grab a table?” He took Jorah’s arm in a bruising grip and hauled him to one near the fire. 

“I told you stay in the car,” Thoros whispered, taking a large pull of his drink to try and think of a way out. Euron and Aeron were still standing at the bar, but somebody was moving to lock the door. 

“Because I was unarmed,” Jorah whispered back. “I brought my bat!” Thoros scowled at the bat in question.

“It’s not even aluminum! How are you going to take on organized crime with a wooden bat?”

Somebody cleared their throat behind them, and Jorah’s blue eyes went round. Thoros quickly took another gulp from his glass and turned.

Euron Greyjoy, short brown hair, medium height, lean. He looked at ease, but his odd gray gaze was luminous with anger.

“How did you find me?” He grinned, and it reminded Thoros of an animal baring its teeth.

“The Lord of Light sent me here,” Thoros said. That could be true on any number of levels, but hopefully just in the generic, all things happen for a reason, kind of way. Behind him the fire crackled encouragingly.

“There’s only one god here and it’s not your red one,” Aeron giggled from behind Euron. He seemed considerably more at ease with his father’s men around them. Thoros supposed he would be too if the situation were reversed.

“Shall we test that?” Thoros stood up. “The Lord of Light against the Drowned God? A trial by faith? One on one, Euron Greyjoy, do you really think you can beat me?” He spread his hands, palms open, in mockery of a holy gesture.

Somebody cautious like Aeron Greyjoy would not rise to this bait. But he was talking to Euron, and Euron liked chaos and violence for its own sake. You didn’t have to be a psychologist to see how he’d manipulated Balon, backed him into a corner, to create this entire war. One on one, and Jorah might walk out of here. Euron was sizing him up now. They were approximately the same height—Thoros was five foot eleven, and Euron had maybe an inch on him. Thoros was of a stockier build, so he had the weight advantage, though Euron had a sort of sinewy muscle. Euron had the fortune to still be wearing the heavy leather motorcycle gear he’d had on at the fight, whereas Thoros just had his ever faithful hoodie. Euron had the reach and wouldn’t go down easy thanks to his protective wear, but in a fair fight, Thoros liked his chances. Of course, this wasn’t a fair fight.

“They said you were a madman,” Euron cracked his neck back and forth, eyes practically glowing with anticipation. “I didn’t realize that meant stupid.”

He waved his arm, and people backed away, buying them so breathing room. Thoros put his fists up. Euron prowled the edges of their ring, moving gracefully. Thoros didn’t want to charge—didn’t trust the bystanders to remain neutral if he got too close, and wanted to keep an eye out for that knife of Euron’s. Instead he moved slowly in the center, tracking Euron’s path.

“Come, you’ll never avenge your sister that way,” Euron teased. “Perhaps I’ll have to pay her a visit later, see what I’ve been missing.”

Thoros ignored the taunt, focused on Euron’s feet. If he was going to spring, that’s where the tell would be.

“Victarion seemed to think she wasn’t worth it, but he’s a hard man to impress. Maybe if he’d had her kiss him a little lower down…” Euron grabbed himself in a lewd gesture. When that too failed to provoke a response, his glassy stare darkened and slid meaningfully to Jorah.

“I thought you were promising a fight. You’re starting to bore me, and if I get bored I shall seek other entertain—” Thoros covered the distance and led with a jab. Euron leaned to avoid it and promptly caught an elbow to the face. He staggered a pace back, his smile undiminished. Now that he was committed, Thoros thought he might as well pursue the advantage. He landed a hard right hook into Euron’s side, took a glancing blow to his head, and then continued to work the chest.

He still felt acutely aware of the heat from the fire, could swear it was pulsing brighter, as he pummeled his opponent. Euron was blocking most of the blows but was unable to counterattack and growing increasingly frustrated. Finally, Euron grunted and threw himself directly into the barrage, trying to force Thoros back with his sheer body weight. Stupid, Thoros was the heavier and barely budged, and now he had a hand free. Thoros pulled his fist back for a hook to Euron’s jaw, only to register the dull glint of metal.

He spun back instead, a moment too fast to be gutted on the knife that had appeared in Euron’s hand, a moment too slow too avoid getting cut altogether. A jolt of pain across his side as the knife nicked above his hip bone. Euron held the now stained knife up and casually flicked the excess blood off the blade.

It was Thoros’ turn to retreat, as slowly as he dared, as Euron moved forward, the knife slicing and dicing through the air. Euron’s longer reach was paying off here—Thoros was landing a jab or two, but was forced to keep a wary distance from that glittering steel. Euron seemed to enjoy playing with his food. A shallow cut along the forearm, a gash to the shoulder, the barest sting to his neck. The pain was sending pulsing alarm bells through his body, but he still felt clear-headed. Not that he had a plan. Clear-headed in his acknowledgment that he had no plan.

He could tackle him—he would take at least one serious stab wound, but if it wasn’t fatal… His retreat took him back towards the table where Jorah was standing, face white. His eye hit on his half-empty drink, and he snagged it and flung it into Euron’s face.

Euron dodged the glass but caught much of the liquid, and had to blink for a second. Thoros was charging, he had him, and then like a pale wraith, Aeron was in his way, slashing with his own blade. Fuck! Why did they all have knives! Thoros took a not so shallow cut across the thigh and then Jorah was screaming and launching himself at Aeron, upending the entire table to get at him. Thoros staggered backwards before falling, the back of his head bouncing off the stone hearth. The room spun crazily. He was now inches from the fire. He lifted his head. His leg was sending lancing waves of agony through his brain. He wasn’t so sure he was getting up again.

Jorah and Aeron were rolling on the floor punching each other, neither strong enough to pin the other. Euron stepped over them as casually as one might step over a dog, a terrible smirk on his face, twirling the blade in his hand.

Thoros tried to pull himself toward the overturned table, away from the fire and the knife-wielding maniac, when he noticed the handle of Jorah’s baseball bat sticking pitifully out of the hearth.

“Maybe I’ve had the wrong religion all along,” Euron said musingly. “Maybe I should feed you to the fire, see if your red god will accept my offering. What do you say?”

“Valar morghulis,” Thoros snarled, grabbing the bat and swinging it hard so that it smashed into Euron’s knee.

Euron gave a roar of rage as he fell hard to the side, and Thoros felt a resounding surge of energy. He staggered back to his feet. The baseball bat was fully aflame, and he landed another blow, this time on Euron’s back. His leather jacket started smoking, and with a howl of sheer panic, Euron started twisting frantically trying to get it off. As he rolled over, exposing his chest, Thoros struck again hard in the belly. Then again across the ribs. Again. Again.

There was a hammering coming from somewhere and Thoros wasn’t sure it wasn’t his own frazzled brain. He stopped, panting.

From the ground below him Euron laughed. It was a terrible laugh, his mouth bloody, his teeth white again an awful smear of blood. He laughed and the blood bubbled and popped from his mouth like froth on a stormy sea. 

One of his arms was lying prone, bent at a terrible angle. The other clutched his ribs weakly. He was a broken beaten mess, but still he laughed, gray eyes shining with a sick delight. He laughed all the way until Thoros brought the bat down with on his skull with an awful crack, or maybe it was the fire cracking or maybe it was the door but all his friends fell through and Euron wasn’t laughing anymore.

People had cleaned him up, the bartender had given him a dishrag to tie around his leg. The cops were coming and nobody was sure who called them. Some men who had been watching picked up Euron and took him off, to the hospital they said.

Jorah had pried the still smoldering baseball bat from his grip, picking away each finger as he spoke to him in a low murmur. The important thing was not to say anything. The police tended to leave bar brawls alone unless someone was pressing charges, and the Greyjoys never pressed charges because they hated the police. Thoros nodded stupidly. He wasn’t sure his brain was working right, he was so tired.

And then the police came and they recognized Jorah and Jorah talked to them, his golly gee shucks prep school kid act a little rumpled by the torn shirt and split lip. But he was still the boss’ son, and maybe that why Thoros found himself sitting in Deputy Commissioner Jeor Mormont’s office, staring blankly at a photo of the Deputy Commissioner shaking hands with Mayor Targaeryen.

Jorah was with him and Aeron Greyjoy. Jorah was staring at his father earnestly.

“You fell down?” Jeor growled. “How’d you split your lip falling down?”

“I hit the table on the way down,” Jorah said firmly. 

“And your ear? It’s the size of a cauliflower!”

“I must have hit that too. I don’t remember much, I hit my head.”

“What about you?” Jeor wheeled on Thoros. “Your sweatshirt looks like it went through a shredder!”

“It was like that before,” Jorah jumped in.

“He’s bleeding from his neck!” 

“I think he landed on some glass when he fell.”

“Oh he fell too?” Jeor raised an eyebrow.

“Yes he tripped over me,” Jorah said placidly.

Jeor growled. Like a bear.

“What the devil’s the matter with him, why doesn’t he speak? Does he need a translator?”

“Thoros, you’re fine right? Tell father you’re fine and that it was just a bad fall?” Jorah gave him a gentle shake.

“I believe that’s called leading the witness,” the Deputy Commissioner snarked.

Thoros tried to remember what they were talking about. They both were looking at him expectantly. He chanced a nod.

“Can he even speak Common?” The bear grumbled. Thoros knew the answer to that one.

“Yes,” he said.

Apparently giving him up as a lost cause, the Commissioner turned to Aeron Greyjoy.

“What about you? Did you fall?” 

The boy glared at him. Maybe. He had two black eyes so it was hard to tell exactly what his eyes were doing. With the white blond hair and the purpled skin, he looked like some sort of evil elf.

“Listen, Greyjoy, we know your brother was admitted to the hospital. Whatever happened, he could have died, so maybe it’s time to start talking.”

Aeron Greyjoy mumbled something under his breath.

“I didn’t catch that,” Jeor leaned forward.

“What is dead may never die,” Aeron hissed and then crossed his arms, staring at the floor. Clearly that was the last word he intended to have on the matter.

“Iron born,” Jeor groaned. “Well this is going nowhere. Jorah, you’re grounded. I’m taking the car. Possibly forever. Come on, let’s get you klutzes home.”

Jorah pulled him to his feet, and they walked outside. 

Robert and Davos and Stannis and Ned were there and Melisandre. She saw him and hurried over and he knew she wanted to hug him but wouldn’t in front of these people. She grabbed his arm instead with both hands, fireman’s grip, like he’d taught her. For something you don’t want to let go of. Her hands were over-warm against his skin. She always had run hot.

“I knew He’d keep you safe,” she said.

“Of course he did, he’s a fucking terror that Mormont!” Robert bellowed, ruffling Jorah’s hair, and everybody laughed except for Thoros and Melisandre who knew that hadn’t been what she was talking about.

“Alright gang, this calls for drinks at my place. Who’s in?” Robert looked around.

“I have to drive Jorah home, Mr. Mormont’s orders,” Ned smiled. “C’mon slugger.” 

“Pfff, Stannis, Davos?” Robert wheeled on them. Davos looked briefly stunned that Robert had finally remembered his name and then nodded.

“Only if Melisandre comes,” Stannis looked at her, and she smiled, finally letting go of Thoros’ arm. He felt slightly off balance now.

“Thoros! The hero of Pyke!” Robert grinned. Thoros looked around confused for the hero. And then he saw Beric, all the way down the hallway, about to slip away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! Some chapters are easier to write than others and this one just wrote itself. I had so so much fun writing it--hope you enjoyed as much as I did :)


	21. Beric (Greyjoy Rebellion 7 of 7)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another arc comes to an end! I'd be curious to know if you like the action oriented (like Greyjoy Rebellion) or romcom oriented (like Robert's Rager or the one we're about to start)--I'm trying to think of new ideas for arcs!

For a moment when Beric saw Thoros walk out of the Deputy Commissioner’s officer, largely unharmed and unaffected, he felt a surge of relief. Then Thoros was swarmed by his friends and family, and Beric remembered that Thoros hadn’t even wanted him at Pyke in the first place.

He had stuck close enough during the main fight, but then had vanished in the aftermath. Had asked JORAH MORMONT of all people to be his second instead. He didn’t trust Beric in a real crisis, hadn’t even trusted him with his plans. It was clear that whatever affection Beric felt for him was significantly less reciprocated than he thought.

It was at that realization that Beric decided to quietly excuse himself. Thoros hadn’t even let go of his sister yet, he wouldn’t know Beric had ever been there.

Beric headed for the door sadly. How did this keep happening? He remembered how Jon would pull away, for no reason, how he forgot things like Beric’s birthday. He remembered getting stood up at a restaurant because Rhaegar had asked Jon to go to a concert. He might not have the physical relationship with Thoros that he’d had with Jon, but he thought they’d had the emotional intimacy. Frankly, he thought they’d had much more of it.

Was it him? Was it psychological? Maybe his anxiety over fulfilling his parents’ expectations led him to seek out people who wanted far less from him? Maybe—

“Beric!” Thoros was running down the hall after him.

“Thoros,” Beric said stiffly, and walked out the door. Thoros trailed him into the parking lot.

“Hey wait up! You have to slow down, my leg’s killing me,” Thoros gave a forced laugh.

Beric sighed and turned, still several feet away.

“I came to make sure you’re okay. I’m glad you weren’t injured. Now I should go home.”

“I was hoping you’d drive me home?” Thoros asked, scratching the back of his head.

“It’s late Thoros. Why don’t you ask Ned or Robert.”

“I don’t want to go with Ned or Robert,” Thoros sulked playfully. Either he hadn’t registered Beric’s mood or he was ignoring it.

“Jorah is riding in Ned’s car,” Beric said, hating that it sounded like jealousy. It wasn’t about Jorah, it was about it not being him.

“Who cares where Jorah is?” Thoros shrugged.

“You apparently,” Beric bit, and continued on. This time when Thoros caught up, he planted himself between Beric and his car. Beric tried to shove the shorter boy aside, but bounced off Thoros when he refused to yield.

“I don’t understand what’s wrong,” Thoros said, hurt apparent on his face. “Are you mad at me? Did I do something? I’ve had such a long day Beric, I can barely think straight. Why are you walking away from me?”

Beric hated the idea that he had caused this hurt but this was unfair.

“You didn’t need me before, Thoros. I’m not some friend that can be summoned and dismissed like a dog. You could’ve told me about Euron, you know, could’ve trusted me. I’m not useless! I would’ve gone! I would’ve backed you up!” Beric’s voice was rising in anger.

Thoros blinked.

“I don’t think you’re useless Beric. And I do trust you, more than anything. I didn’t ask you because I KNEW you’d come and back me up. I couldn’t put you in danger like that! Jorah was supposed to stay in the car, I thought he’d listen!”

“You don’t get to decide whether or not I should be in danger! I’m your friend, I should’ve been there!” Beric snapped. He pushed Thoros again, hard, this time in the shoulder.

Thoros hissed, and Beric was surprised at the flash of pain that flickered over his features.

“What’s wrong?” Beric asked. Thoros had grabbed his shoulder with the other arm.

“It’s nothing, I just, I... I need to sit down.”

Thoros plopped down, right in the middle of the parking lot. Beric hesitated.

“Come on, let’s get you to my car.”

He lifted him up, struggling slightly under the weight, and they staggered the rest of the way together. Beric was reminded of that first night on the beach when Thoros had gotten him home safely. He owed him that much at least.

He put Thoros in the passenger seat, and reached over to buckle him in. Thoros snagged his shirt with one hand, holding his head close.

“You’re right,” Thoros mumbled in his ear. “It wasn’t just the danger. I didn’t want you to see me be a bad person. I didn’t think you would forgive me. I don’t know what to do if you’re not my friend anymore.”

Beric gently freed himself, taken aback.

“Of course we’re still friends. I never said we weren’t friends.”

“But you’re angry,” Thoros looked up at him, voice childishly uncertain. Why was he so hard to stay mad at?

Beric sighed and leaned his forehead against Thoros’, so they were nose to nose.

“Friends fight. You’re still my friend.”

“Friends forever? Pinky swear?” Thoros looked relieved.

Beric rolled his eyes but linked his pinky finger with Thoros. Thoros promptly kissed his side.

“It doesn’t count unless you kiss, Beric.”

Beric kissed his own hand, and then ruffled Thoros’ hair.

“I think you might have a concussion,” he said ruefully.

The drive back to Thoros’ apartment was uneventful, although made tenser by Beric constantly checking that Thoros was not falling asleep.

“Keep talking. Tell me about Melisandre and Stannis. When did that happen?”

“Has it happened?” Thoros yawned. “I don’t think so. Maybe he’ll be luckier tonight.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t want to make out with anyone after what happened this morning,” Beric objected.

“Was that only this morning. It’s been such a long day,” Thoros’ chin started drifting toward his chest.

“Hey! We’re here. Come on, let’s get you upstairs.”

Beric got him to his bedroom and then remembered the way he’d clutched at his shoulder.

“Do you have a first aid kit?”

“Under the bathroom sink,” Thoros said. Beric found it without trouble and then returned.

“Take off your hoodie and your shirt,” he said, and Thoros began shrugging them off.

“And your jeans,” Beric added. Then he heard how it sounded and flushed.

“You can leave your boxers on,” he added hastily. Thoros raised an eyebrow and snickered.

“Very gracious, my lord.”

Beric bit his lip when he saw the gashes. It was a good thing he had gotten so much experience changing his own bandages last spring.

“Oh stop it, I don’t even need stitches,” Thoros saw his expression and pouted.

“You’re still bleeding! You should have gone to a doctor!”

“For some cuts and scrapes? I can’t afford that,” Thoros laughed.

Beric swallowed, and set to work on his shoulder. Then his neck. He bent to check the one on Thoros’ thigh, and had to unwind a dirty dishrag. Thoros gave a strangled whimper, and Beric squeezed his hand.

“You baby, it’s only a scrape,” he teased, and was rewarded with a wan smile. Beric quickly brushed the disinfectant on and wrapped a clean gauze bandage around the wound. He tied it off, tearing it free of the roll with his teeth. Hip next. He traced the edge of the cut with his finger and Thoros shivered.

“Am I hurting you?” Beric asked quickly.

“Just ticklish,” Thoros mumbled.

That done, he walked around to check Thoros’ back. He swallowed. No injuries. Nothing new anyway. But he’d be blind not to notice the odd scars that flecked Thoros’ back. He traced one, and beneath his touch, Thoros stiffened.

“What did this?”

“Belt.”

“Your father?”

“No. Temple.”

Beric swallowed again. There didn’t seem to be much else to say. He put away the bandages under the bathroom sink, Thoros trailing after him.

“I should stay with you for a while, you shouldn’t go to sleep,” Beric said.

“If you like,” Thoros shrugged, but Beric thought he saw a hint of a smile. He went back to the bedroom, and Beric followed. Thoros didn’t bother with pajamas, just climbed into the bed. He patted the mattress next to him.

“Sorry it’s cozy, the temple just gives us these crappy twin beds.”

Beric hesitated and took off his shoes and his shirt.

“You’re going to sleep in jeans?” Thoros smirked. Beric rolled his eyes and took off his jeans and climbed in. They were lying side by side now, face to face, Thoros’ eyes gradually closing.

“Hey, no sleeping,” Beric flicked his nose. Thoros cracked one eye open.

“Keeping people with concussions from sleeping is actually an urban myth,” Thoros informed him drily. “Hit the lights? You’re closest.”

“But,” Beric spluttered. “Why didn’t you say something?!”

“I like talking to you. Why would I say anything? And I didn’t want you to leave. What if I have bad dreams? You have to protect me,” Thoros rolled over, his back now pressed against Beric’s chest. “There’s no getting out of it, it’s your solemn duty as big spoon.”

Beric sighed and switched the lights off. Trying to get comfortable, he snuggled closer and draped his arm around Thoros.

“You’re my priest, of course I’ll protect you,” he whispered, and he meant it.


	22. Mel/Jaim/Rob (Sadie Hawkins 1 of 6)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody. Posting a little later than usually today because I've been traveling for the last four days. Just got home and am running on three hours of sleep and a hangover! Wheeeeee!!! Idk how common Sadie Hawkins dances are, but my school had one and it has a Wikipedia entry so at least sort of? It's a dance where the girl is supposed to ask the guy out.

Melisandre glared at the boy steeping tea across from her. He was polite and well-mannered, clean, tidy, soft-spoken, the consummate house guest. She hated him.

“Can I make you a cup?” Beric Dondarrion, her brother’s latest rescue, asked graciously.

“No. Don’t you have a house you live in?” Melisandre snapped.

It was the perfect storm. Thoros’ penchant for adopting strays and his complete emotional ineptitude colliding and making a colossal mess right in her apartment. Not that Beric ever made a mess. She’d caught him cleaning their freezer the other day. Everybody knew that cold killed germs. Freezers were basically self-cleaning.

The point was he was there. Always there. It was like having another roommate, if both roommates were appallingly interested in each other but also too shy to make the first move.

She knew that Thoros had... well, let’s call it a love life. But she had rarely seen the girls who snuck out of his bedroom more than once or twice. Whatever it was, it always seemed to be physical and not very serious. So he was profoundly ill-equipped to handle anything more substantive than lust.

What he was good at was intense platonic friendships with zero boundaries. That was how she had woken up to find Robert Baratheon on her couch. Her working theory was that Thoros had a crush on Beric and, unable to process that emotion like an adult, turned him into his best friend because that was something safer. Now both of them existed in this weird constantly together with a side of sexual tension limbo and it was driving her CRAZY.

She stared at Beric moodily. He cleared his throat.

“So are you asking anybody to the Sadie Hawkins dance?”

“The institution of Sadie Hawkins dances is inherently patriarchal. By implying that women ‘get’ to ask men to this dance, the school is suggesting that men should be asking women to the other dances,” Melisandre narrowed her eyes. Beric gulped.

“I just thought Stannis might have maybe been thinking you might...”

Melisandre felt her face flush. 

“Excuse me. I think I just saw Davos’ truck pull up,” she said utterly untruthfully.

Ten minutes of waiting on the curb later, Davos’ truck actually did pull up.

“Good morning Melisandre,” Stannis said with the small smile that he’d been using with her lately. 

“Is it?” She asked dully. Stannis and Davos exchanged a look they thought she couldn’t see.

It’s not that she didn’t want to ask him. Great Other, she’d practiced the speech in front of the mirror last night. But after she’d embarrassed herself at the last party they’d attended together, she was determined to let him make the first move. Until her school had pulled this grade A gendered hierarchy BULLSHIT and given her a no win situation. Ask him and get rejected and/or pressure him into something he didn’t want. OR don’t ask him and spend a Friday night watching Thoros watch Beric like he was the last person on earth.

Ugh she needed more friends.

What if there was a way to let him ask her while actually asking him? Hmmmmm.

They were almost at school before she worked up the nerve to broach the subject. Davos had been in the middle of telling a story about his neighbor when she jumped in.

“What do you guys think of the Sadie Hawkins dance?” She asked. 

“I didn’t go last year,” Davos said.

“It was fun,” Stannis said. “I went with Selyse Florent. She asked me.”

“Would you want to go this year?” Melisandre inquired, trying to keep her tone neutral.

“Are you asking me?” Stannis turned and looked at her.

“NO!” Melisandre blurted. Ack, unwind! “I just meant like was it fun enough to go again?”

“So you’re not asking me?”

“No,” Melisandre said again, more calmly and less spastically.

“Oh,” Stannis looked down and rocked on his heels for a moment. “I guess I’ll tell Selyse yes then.”

“Okay—I mean what?!” Melisandre stopped dead.

“She had asked me to go again, but I wanted to wait to see if you were going to ask. I’ll just text her now,” Stannis pulled out his cell. Behind him Davos was waving his arms no.

“I... I...” Melisandre tried to make the words come out. “I mean, would...” Stannis kissing her hand. Her throat dried up.

“Great, she said I can pick her up at eight,” Stannis announced, not looking at her. 

“Great,” she said.

“Melisandre, I thought you were going to say something,” Davos ground out through gritted teeth. His expression said fix this.

“Oh. Yes,” Melisandre swallowed. They both looked at her expectantly.

“Davos, did you want to go to Sadie Hawkins with me?” She squeaked.

——-

Ever since the Greyjoy Rebellion, as the school was calling it, their walks through the hallways had been significantly more cordial. Brienne sometimes laughed at his jokes and he liked that. He liked a lot of things about her.

“All’s not well in paradise,” Jaime snorted, nodding his head at Stannis Baratheon and Melisandre Asshai, determinedly not looking at each other. “Did you hear that that he’s going to Sadie Hawkins with Selyse Florent?”

“The girl with the ears?” Brienne said and then immediately clapped her hands over her mouth. Jaime laughed.

“See, I’m rubbing off on you.”

“That was terribly unkind,” Brienne looked down. “I have plenty of experience with people talking about my appearance behind my back. I should know better.”

Jaime stopped and swallowed. 

“How about you?” He said, trying to change the subject. “Are you asking anyone?”

“Asking anyone what?” Brienne frowned, opening her locker. 

“Asking anyone to the Sadie Hawkins dance,” Jaime rolled his eyes.

“Like anybody would say yes,” Brienne snorted. “I’m not stupid, I know what I look like.”

Jaime shut her locker firmly, forcing her to look at him.

“What?” She said. She didn’t know how wrong that was, how sad that was, how much more she deserved out of life. Brienne was kind and good damnit, he couldn’t possibly be the only person who saw that.

“I would go if you asked me,” he said bluntly. He had already turned down a dozen girls, only out of boredom and a vague feeling that something better would turn up. Maybe this was his something better.

“I don’t need to go,” Brienne protested.

“I know,” he shrugged. “I’m just saying I would rather go with you than anybody else. I would go if you asked me.”

Brienne stared at him. He held her gaze.

“Willyougotothedancewithme?” She said in one breath.

“Yes,” he said simply, and it was worth it to see her face light up.

“You’re what?” Cersei stared at him from her pool float. Perfect Cersei who had never known the casual cruelty that boys harbor for awkward girls.

“Going with Brienne Tarth to Sadie Hawkins. I know we had talked about not going.”

Cersei flicked her shades down, blocking her identical green eyes from his. They were the same in so many ways, which made the differences baffle him all the more.

“It’s too grotesque,” She might have been looking at him or away from him, it was impossible to tell. He only saw his reflection, sitting at the edge of the pool. His reflection looking uncertain but hopeful, staring back at him.

He would do it right, he thought. Give Brienne the high school dance of her dreams. The thought pleased him. Flowers and a limousine with champagne. He might not be as good of a dancer as Renly, but at least he could spin her. He pictured her eyes sparkling, her lips slightly parted in that half smile she got when she was happy but too shy to admit it.

“What am I supposed to do?” Cersei asked, and he felt startled. He had forgotten she was there.

——

Ironically, one of the worst twenty-four hours of Robert’s senior year began with an enormous victory on the football field. They had CRUSHED the Warrior’s Academy. Robert had set a school passing record for one game. The team had started the year 3-0 and he was on track for the school career passing record (and season passing record, but that already belonged to him so that was a smidge less exciting). 

A cheerleader was sitting in his lap and a beer was dangling from his hand, and life was making as much sense as it ever did.

“NED!” Robert boomed. “Where are we going tonight to celebrate?! I can’t celebrate without my offensive line!”

“I’m hardly the only member of the offensive line,” Ned laughed.

“But you’re my favorite!” Robert grinned. Behind Ned, Meryn Trant and Boros Blount glared at him. Lazy fucks. What did he care.

“Well you’ll have to live without me. Family calls,” Ned shrugged.

“And what does family say? Brandon in town?” Robert asked idly, planting a sloppy kiss on the cheerleader’s cheek. Had he slept with this one yet?

“Er not exactly.” Ned sounded flustered. Odd. Robert looked up suspiciously. Ned was avoiding his gaze.

“So what exactly?”

“Is it true you have a hot tub?” The cheerleader twisted in his lap to face him.

“Not now sweetheart,” Robert lifted her up and deposited her on the bench.

“What exactly, Ned?” Poor Ned, he never could lie worth a damn. 

“Lyanna wants me to come to dinner with her and Rhaegar,” Ned looked down.

Oh. Just like that, the color in his life drained away. It was so easy to forget for a time. That was the trick, to live in those moments of forgetfulness. It was when the memories came back, the full awareness of what he had lost, that Robert felt the walls closing in.

His Lyanna was a phantom, coming and going, murmuring endearments in his dreams and vanishing like mist in the morning. Sometimes it felt like she had just left—like she might come back at any moment and kiss him and ask him why he hadn’t called.

The flesh and blood Lyanna was long gone. He knew that, he just didn’t feel it. It was an odd sensation, this disconnect with reality. 

“I told her I didn’t want to. She was so upset, Robert, she kept begging me to give him a chance.”

Robert nodded numbly. Ned would hate Rhaegar if he asked him to, for Ned was as much Robert’s brother as Lyanna’s. But how do you ask that of a brother?

So he’d gone to the first bar, with Trant and Blount, and then the second, with Thoros and Dondarrion, and then the third, with that cheerleader from before. She had brown hair like Lyanna. But also nothing like Lyanna. Lyanna’s hair was thick and wavy and untamable. He remembered her sighing at how it frizzed on the beach. Her tying it back with a band that had snapped when they were having sex later, and she had thrown her head back and laughed.

He didn’t take the girl home. Didn’t take the car home. Don’t drink and drive, kids. He was walking, walking along a road. How did he get here? Where did he go wrong? She said she loved him, she promised they would be together for always. His reflection confronted him in a storefront, disheveled and bleary. She’d ripped his heart out and all that was left was a carcass, a walking talking carcass. Everybody knew it. It was the world’s biggest joke. 

He punched the glass hard with his hand. It rebounded, his reflection unbreakable. When your heart gets broken, people should be able to tell. He punched the glass again. There should be some kind of fucking scar, to warn people. And again. This time the glass spiderwebbed, and a thousand refracted Roberts started back which was worse. He hiccuped and his face was wet and he hit again.

A car stopped behind him. Somebody got out and caught his fist.

“You have got to be kidding,” said a vaguely familiar and very scornful voice, but distant, and his hand was bleeding. Why was his hand bleeding? That’s right, Lyanna had fucking ripped his heart out.

Robert was deposited in the back seat of the car and he was asleep before he knew it.


	23. Robert (Sadie Hawkins 2 of 6)

When he woke up, it was with a wave of nausea and pain and the keen sense that he would be better off going back to sleep.

The room he was in was very... pink. He was lying with all his clothes on, on top of a white bedspread with pale pink flowers. There was stuffed unicorn next to his head, and someone had thrown a pink fleece blanket over him. He really needed to stop blacking out and waking up in strange places.

With a massive effort, he pulled himself upright.

Cersei Lannister was sitting on a divan across the room, painting her toenails. She was applying a pale pink polish, and it seemed like this room but slightly more grown up.

“How did I get here?” Robert asked, and his voice was so raspy that it hurt. It wasn’t the only thing that hurt. His left hand was so wrapped in gauze it didn’t look like a hand at all.

“I was hoping you could tell me that,” Cersei sniffed. She had long, perfectly curled golden hair and hard green eyes. She didn’t look a thing like Lyanna, which Robert appreciated.

“So we didn’t...?” He asked sheepishly. She gave a husky laugh.

“Gods no! This isn’t even my bedroom. It’s my playroom from when I was little. My father said you were in here and that when you woke up, he wanted a word with you in his study.”

Robert winced. Fragments of last night were beginning to come back.

“I think your dad might have found me on the street. And um had to take me to the hospital. At like two in the morning.”

Cersei stared at him. 

“He’s going to be furious,” she said flatly. “If I were you, I’d get my strength up before going to his study.”

“Right,” Robert gulped. “What do you do for breakfast?”

Cersei pushed an intercom.

“Westerling? Send up a plate of scrambled eggs, some orange juice, some coffee, and some French toast. Oh, and a yoghurt bowl for me.”

“Thanks,” Robert said. Wow, this was like being in a hotel. If hotels came with murderous business tycoons and their alarmingly prepossessing daughters.

“What did you do to your hand?” Cersei asked. “For your sake, I hope it was rescue an heiress from getting mugged.” 

“Er no, I got drunk and put it through some glass,” Robert waved the enormous white stub in the air. 

“Maybe you should tell father you were rescuing an heiress. He would be much more sympathetic,” Cersei said.

“He kind of came across me as I was putting it through the glass. It took several tries.”

“And people say you have no stamina,” Cersei smirked.

“Who says that?” Robert snorted. “My stamina is legendary. Ask any girl on the gymnastics team.”

“I was talking about football,” Cersei said airily, although a twitch of a smile revealed she hadn’t been. “Get your mind out of the gutter.”

Robert laughed at that one. And maybe he was loopy off pain meds or faint from hunger, but he decided to tell her.

“Rhaegar is in town. He and Lyanna were having dinner together last night.”

“I know,” Cersei said. “He’s on break. She’s invited him to Sadie Hawkins.”

Robert felt like he had been sucker punched.

“According to who?”

“Varys.”

Shit. It was true then. He had beaten Rhaegar. Destroyed him in front of the entire school. He had won. Why did winning feel so much like losing?

Neither of them said anything for a while, and then a butler chap came in with breakfast. Robert handled the eggs well enough, but cutting the French toast proved impossible with one hand.

“This is pathetic,” Cersei scoffed. “Here, let me do it.”

She carved up the dish in neat little squares, as Robert watched helplessly.

“I fancied myself in love with Rhaegar, once upon a time,” Cersei said, sitting back down. Robert took a bite to avoid having to respond. He hadn’t known that.

“Watching him choose Elia and then choose Lyanna and never once notice me... That hurt. I’ve had enough of not being noticed in life,” she cast a dark look at a family photo. Whether it was her father or Jaime she was glaring at, Robert wasn’t sure. Her little brother wasn’t in the photo.

“But I didn’t beat my chest and wail and make a spectacle for the whole school to gawk at,” she looked at Robert pointedly.

He swallowed. Who was this junior girl to tell him how to grieve. What had she ever been through like Lyanna? There was nothing like Lyanna.

“You need to act like you’ve moved on. If you act the part well enough, it might start becoming true,” Cersei narrowed her eyes.

“How do I do that?” Robert asked, barely paying attention. It sounded like a stupid plan. Granted, he didn’t have a better one.

“I might be willing to help,” Cersei stretched one leg, admiring her toes. She did have great legs. “Come see me when you’re done with my father. If there’s anything left of you.”

Tywin Lannister had close cropped blond hair, cold blue-green eyes, and a scowl that could sink a thousand ships. His mother said Tywin looked like he had been weaned on a lemon. Robert supposed his parents were friends with Tywin, but only in the way that the extremely wealthy all spent a certain amount of time together. A nasty piece of work, his father had called him, with his tongue so far up the mayor’s asshole it was a wonder he could speak. His father had been actual friends with them once. Tywin and the mayor. He wasn’t anymore. 

“Here are your medical reports,” Tywin said, sliding the manila folder across the desk. “A bone bruise. Minor cuts. No breaks, no fractures, no stitches. You have no business being so lucky.”

“Thank you Mr. Lannister,” Robert looked down at the folder, only to have some respite from Tywin’s glare. 

“Do you think the Aerie has given you a scholarship on the basis of your academic prowess?” Tywin asked. Robert shook his head.

“Do you think they would have a second’s hesitation in pulling your acceptance letter? A letter which, according to Olenna Tyrell, is conditioned upon certain performance metrics in your senior year?”

Tywin stood up and began to pace.

“Perhaps you think your family’s name and connections could get you in somewhere else. Sunspear perhaps. Winterfell. Let me assure you, those names do not carry the same weight in the business world as the Aerie. And not even Castle Black would take you if you were arrested for vandalizing a store front while intoxicated as a minor.”

Just the thought of attending Sunspear with Rhaegar and Lyanna was enough to make Robert shudder. Tywin, thinking he was making an impression, nodded slowly.

“I have made some calls to Ms. Tyrell and Mr. Selmy. It was unfortunate that you got your hand caught in the garage door mechanism while assisting me with some home repairs.” As if Tywin Lannister had ever done a home repair in his life. 

“Thank you Mr. Lannister,” Robert said again.

“Thank you, Mr. Lannister,” Tywin repeated mockingly. “Is that all you know how to say?”

Robert’s jaw clenched. He felt Tywin’s cold stare on him appraisingly.

“In some ways, you remind me of my son Jaime. You have been given great gifts and opportunities that few will ever have. I suggest you start making better use of them. That will be all.” Tywin waved a hand like he was dismissing a servant. Robert felt his temper begin to boil, and left quickly before it slipped away from him entirely.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Who did that hateful old fart think he was? Talking to him like a child. He didn’t need Tywin Lannister’s help! He didn’t need anybody’s help! He was ROBERT BARATHEON, there wasn’t a person alive who didn’t want to be him or be with him. Tywin Lannister would rue the day he had thought him somebody to be pitied. Just because he had money. 

Somehow, he found himself back in the strange playroom where Cersei was finishing her breakfast.

“Oh good, you’re still alive,” she said disinterestedly. “Did you break anything in father’s study?”

“No,” Robert ground out.

“Pity.”

“Your father’s a cunt,” he snapped.

“Don’t I know it,” Cersei licked her spoon meditatively. Robert felt a flush of entirely inappropriate lust and squelched it down.

“You need a girlfriend by Sadie Hawkins. Somebody that proves you’re over Lyanna, somebody that is every bit the catch that she is. I can’t think of many people that qualify, and even fewer who would agree.”

“You?” Robert cottoned on through the daydream of shoving Tywin Lannister into a garage mechanism. He supposed it was better than nothing. He certainly didn’t want to face Lyanna with that cheerleader from last night.

“There's a catch.” Of course there was a catch. Fucking Lannisters.

“I’ve prepared a contract outlying the general terms, but here’s the gist. I can’t be seen dating anyone who dumps me after immediately after the dance. We need a three month minimum.”

“Fine,” Robert shrugged. That would save him from finding a date for Homecoming. 

“And I can’t be seen dating anyone who cheats on me,” Cersei fixed him with a withering glare. Shit. Still, three months. That wasn’t even that long. Besides, how would she really know if he cheated, as long as it wasn’t at KLP? And what exactly would she do, dump him? She had no leverage.

“I can do that,” Robert promised, completely insincerely.

“And nobody can know it’s fake. Not Ned. Not Stannis. Not Jaime. And certainly not my father,” Cersei’s haughty features curved into a wicked grin. Robert stopped to consider that this plan might have merits beyond not having to face Lyanna and Rhaegar by himself. The expression on Tywin Lannister’s face when he arrived to pick up his only daughter. Seven hells, it would be worth it for that alone.

“You can trust my discretion,” Robert said, putting on a pseudo-chivalrous tone, his own slightly malicious smile beginning to emerge.

“You’ll walk me to at least one class a day. We will sit next to each other at lunch. I will come to at least one football practice a week and give you baked goods before games,” Cersei looked down at a sheet of paper as she ticked through the contract.

“What kind of baked goods?”

“Westerling is quite capable in the kitchen. I doubt you’ll have any complaints.” Cersei said, daring him to press his luck. He did not. When he made no further comment, she continued.

“Each of us can request the other’s presence at a public social event once per week, upon no less than three days’ notice.”

“Does my girlfriend kiss me at these public social events?” Robert smirked, his good humor returning in full. Cersei gave him a disdainful quirk of her eyebrow.

“If she must.”

“It would be preferable. To add realism.”

“I suppose you’re right. But you will avoid getting disgustingly drunk and leering at other girls in your girlfriend’s presence.”

Robert frowned.

“Define disgusting?”


	24. Mel/Cers (Sadie Hawkins 3 of 6)

“What have you done?” Davos groaned, leaning his head against Melisandre’s fridge. When that did not produce the necessary relief, he proceeded to open it and stick his head further in. Melisandre sighed inwardly. Oh well. Better the fridge than the oven.

“I think you’re overreacting,” she said from where she lay on the good couch. 

“Overreacting?! OVERREACTING?! Stannis wouldn’t even ride home with us because he thinks that the reason you didn’t ask HIM to the dance is because you wanted to ask ME to the dance. He thinks we’ve been hooking up behind his back! Worse, you’ve sent him running back to that HARPY, Selyse!” Davos slid to the floor, clutching one of Thoros’ beers to his head and cracking another open.

“I hate you. You’ve ruined my life,” he said flatly.

“This is a simple misunderstanding. You just need to talk to him and explain everything,” Melisandre said. Running back to Selyse. Ha! He practically had her on speed dial.

“Me?” Davos gave a harsh bark of laughter. “You created this mess, Missy. You’re cleaning it up.”

“Fine. I still think this is his fault,” Melisandre stretched out fully. “If he had actually kissed me at Robert’s party, none of this would have happened.”

“First, ew. Please never discuss what you and Stannis do in your free time again. Second, you fail to grasp the gravity of the situation,” Davos flopped down on the vomit couch. “Selyse Florent is the worst. Everything she touches is ruined. Even assuming you somehow save Stannis from her clutches, she will find a way to ruin this dance.”

“You’re over—“

“If you tell me I’m overreacting one more time woman...” Davos growled.

What exactly he intended to do never became clear, because Thoros entered the apartment, trailed by his one-eyed shadow.

“Oh! Hey,” Thoros said, clearly surprised to find them both here. He looked at the couches, which were currently fully occupied. Served him and his infuriatingly polite and ever-present guest right.

Davos saw Thoros’ pointed look and started to get up.

“Davos, stay,” Melisandre snapped. Davos stayed.

“Should we maybe study in your bedroom?” Beric asked, and Thoros smiled stupidly and nodded. 

“Thoros is teaching me...” Beric furrowed his brow and then said “tongues” in Valyrian.

“I’ll bet he is,” Melisandre said drily. Thoros shot her a dirty glare and then went to the fridge.

“Who took my beer?” He asked, just as Davos gave a particularly long slurp.

“Er...” Davos stammered.

“Stop being rude to my guest!” Melisandre shouted.

“I’m not being rude, I’m just asking—hey, where’s Stannis?” 

Melisandre wanted to scream. And then maybe cry.

“Oh um he’s not here because we were just um talking about Sadie Hawkins plans?” Davos tried to save the conversation with an uneasy look at Melisandre.

“So you asked Stannis after all!” Beric jumped in cheerfully. 

And that’s when she did scream. Loudly.

There was a long pause during which Thoros stuck his pinkie in his ear and twisted.

“She asked me actually?” Davos made it sound like a question. Beric and Thoros stared. Beric cleared his throat.

“Let’s go to my room,” Thoros muttered. Beric nodded and followed after.

“Be gentle with him,” Melisandre shouted after them. “he’s never—-mmmph!” Melisandre was cut off when Davos hit her with a pillow.

“Stop being mean, this is your fault and you know it,” Davos said bluntly.

She buried her head in her arms.

“So what’s next?” Davos asked after a moment of silence.

“You pick me up at eight,” Melisandre snarled.

——-

Sadie Hawkins wasn’t even Semi-Formal. Last year, when she had asked one of the Kettlebecks, she had thrown on a LBD and called it a night. But out of kindness to Robert (and really the world), she decided to go all out. Lyanna would be wearing something short and sexy and maybe a little whimsical. Something that screamed oh-look-at-me, I’m a manic pixie dream girl and I date the hottest guy that ever was or will be! So tonight, Cersei was all about classic old-school glamor, with just a hint of innocent school girl.

She styled her hair simply, with natural waves, and a braided crown in the back. Natural makeup, that made her look big eyed and blushing. That was the school girl part. Hollywood screen goddess was the dress, a floor length champagne sequins number with a thigh high slit that showed off her toned and ever so tanned legs.

“Nice dress,” Jaime said absently, as he fussed with the bouquet of roses he’d gotten for Brienne. Roses said romantic love. Did he know that, she wondered.

“I thought you weren’t going to the dance,” said the boy who lived under the stairs AKA the little monster AKA Tyrion. Jaime had clearly also thought that, and on Tyrion pointing it out, looked up startled and just a little suspicious. Poor thing, his brain just worked a little slower than the other Lannisters.

Cersei gave Tyrion’s golden curls an absent pat, having for once managed to say the right thing.

“Mmmm,” she made a non-committal noise. “Plans change.”

“Who are you going with?” Jaime inquired, still suspicious. He could sense that she had an evil plan, he just hadn’t figured out what it was yet. Honestly, she wasn’t sure SHE had figured out what it was yet. She just had a feeling this charity work was going to yield dividends.

She was saved from having to answer by the arrival of Robert’s Bugatti in the driveway. She saw Jamie glance up at the crunch of gravel and see the obnoxiously one-of-a-kind vehicle. An expression of dawning horror across his face. Hello dividends.

“Sweet car,” said Tyrion. She might upgrade him from malevolent troll to unfortunate nuisance.

“I like it too,” Cersei said in a conspiratorial voice to her youngest brother. “Maybe he’ll let you do a couple laps in the driveway and blow the horn.”

“You hate his car,” Jaime growled. “You said it was conspicuous consumption on crack.”

There was the sound of a car door opening, a pause, and then the doorbell ringing repeatedly.

“Oh would you be a dear and get it Jaime?” Cersei said, batting her lashes. “I just want to touch up my makeup.”

Jaime stiffly turned and walked toward the front door. 

“What’s eating him?” Tyrion cocked his head. Cersei shrugged, counting to ten in her head to give Robert time to say something crass to piss Jaime off. Then she picked up the hem of her dress and hurried to the front door.

“Darling! You look wonderful!” She threw herself into Robert’s arms and he lifted and spun her like they were in a ballroom. He actually did look quite handsome. She had always preferred blondes, but his broad shoulders filled a tuxedo well. She supposed he looked a bit like James Bond.

“That’s supposed to be my line! Cersei, you’re radiant!” Robert grinned. She did not approve of the small wink he threw her. This was no time to be breaking the fourth wall.

He bowed and produced a garland of daisies.

“I brought a crown for my princess,” he said.

“Daisies?! Oh Robert, they’re my favorite! How did you know?!” Cersei blushed prettily. He knew because she had told him, along with providing detailed instructions on where to purchase said crown and how to keep it fresh until the dance.

Robert put it on her head gently, then put a finger under her chin and tipped her face up for a kiss. It wasn’t awful. It was weird kissing a boy she had known for her entire life and did not particularly like, but it was fairly chaste all things considered.

“If you’re quite done slobbering over my sister,” Jaime cut in testily, “I regret to inform you that you’re an hour early. I hope you don’t intend to spend that time making small talk with our father.”

“Oh where is Daddy?” Cersei leaned her head on Robert’s shoulder. “Honey, will you take Tyrion for a spin around the driveway in your car? Maybe go really fast and let him blow the horn a couple times? He would just love that. I’ll go find father and say goodbye.”

Tyrion, who had been skulking in the hall like the gremlin that he was, let out a whoop. Robert gave a deep appreciative laugh at her suggestion, and the next thing they knew, the Bugatti was skidding around the parking area spraying gravel into the grass like Robert was trying out for Fast & Furious: Yi Ti Drift.

“What is that infernal noise?!” Her father emerged from his study after the fourth or fifth honk of the car horn.

“Oh my boyfriend,” Cersei said nonchalantly.

“Who?” Tywin raised an eyebrow.

“Since when?!” Jaime spluttered. It was so sweet.

Cersei opened the door and waved at the car to summon them back in.

“You’ve met Robert, father,” she chided. “The boy you took to the hospital the other week when you found him drunk on the side of the road?”

“Hello Mr. Lannister,” Robert gave Tyrion a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Great kid you have here.”

Her father’s eyes bulged slightly. 

“Tyrion get inside,” he snapped. “You’re dating my daughter?!”

“I want you to know I really took your words to heart, sir,” Robert said earnestly. “About making the most of my opportunities.” He slid his arm around Cersei’s waist and pulled her to him. She gave a ditzy giggle. So. Many. Dividends.

“Now as lord paramount of the student body, I volunteered to take tickets at the dance. So Cersei and I have to run.”

“Hold on—“

“Don’t worry father, he’s only been in one serious car accident. It’s perfectly safe!” Cersei kissed Robert’s cheek affectionately. He held his arm for her to take, and then once she took it, scooped her up bridal style instead and carried her to the car.

He put her in, rounded the car, and gave the driver’s side door an exuberant slam. They exited stage left with a squeal of rubber.

“All things considered,” Cersei said, looking in the rear view mirror. “I think that went quite well.”


	25. Brienne (Sadie Hawkins 4 of 6)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, it's our 25th chapter anniversary!!! You may all give me reviews reminiscing about your favorite parts of the story thus far or just keep being the awesome readership that you are. 
> 
> Special thanks to TonyaS (my first reviewer AND first repeat reviewer), Jordie_Vinterberg (whose super thoughtful character analysis makes me work to do these characters justice), EverythingCanadian (who clearly appreciates a good High School AU as much as I do), Yokotoyama (amazing reviewer and part time therapist for the neurotic author in me), AlsoSprachVelociraptor (incredible artist and Tumblr curator moonlighting as reviewer), Snowberry (who doesn't mind answering the inane questions I pepper you all with), MogIsMyCatsName (your name or your cat's name, it makes me laugh), Sincerously (who in addition to awesome reviews, also bookmarks great stuff--I lost almost all of a work day due to canon divergence) and finally guest (you are probably multiple people, but in my mind you will always be one very enthusiastic reviewer with a multitude of interests)!

Brienne had never been to a high school dance before. Based on her survey of movies on the subject, she should expect to be doused with pig’s blood at the very least.

Except so far, everything was quite nice. The only question was, was it a date?

She’d assumed they were going as friends. She could accept that Jaime Lannister might want to be her friend, as odd as that idea had seemed at the outset. He didn’t seem to have many friends, which made him a little like Renly if Renly were older and devastatingly good looking and not gay. And really, once you got used to his sense of humor, he was nice. But the idea that he might be romantically interested in her was unthinkable.

Only... he kept doing things that made her wonder.

Take his entrance for example. He had a bouquet of roses under his arm and there was a white limo complete with chauffeur idling in the driveway. Seemed like a date?

“It’s not prom, Jaime,” she mumbled, but it was certainly beautiful.

“Where’s your father?” Jaime had asked nonchalantly. “I need to know what time to have you back by.” You know, like a date.

Jaime had been very polite to her father, not sarcastic or cruel in the slightest. Just very respectful and mature. They’d put the roses in some water, and then her father had insisted on taking them into the backyard for some photos.

“It’s not prom, dad,” she’d said, repeating herself for the tenth or fifteenth time.

“You look gorgeous,” Jaime had winked at her while they were posing in the grass. As someone might say to another someone on a date.

She did look nice. She was wearing a blue dress that she had bought a couple days before when she realized she didn’t have a single dress in her closet. She’d taken Renly with her, because he was honestly much better at that sort of thing than she was.

“You look good too,” she’d said.

“I always do,” Jaime smirked, and she had rolled her eyes. Okay, one for the not-a-date column.

Then they got into the limousine, and he’d had a bottle of champagne on ice. Super date.

They’d clinked champagne flutes and sipped and Jaime had insisted they keep their eyes locked “or bad sex for seven years!” Brienne felt mature and adult and very much like she was on a date.

And then... things took a turn for the odd.

“Say Brienne, you spend a lot of time at the Baratheons’ house right?” Jaime had asked with a studied casualness.

“Sure, I probably spend an afternoon or two there a week,” Brienne shrugged. She and Renly would watch romantic comedies or trashy reality tv and argue over what actors were the hottest.

“Is Robert dating anybody?” Jaime asked.

“Uh I don’t know,” Brienne said startled. She hardly saw the other Baratheon brothers. Sometimes it seemed like Renly lived all alone in that strange fairy tale mansion.

“Does Renly ever talk about Robert’s girls? Or maybe even just one girl?”

“No?” Renly hated talking about his brothers.

“Well do you ever—“

Brienne put a hand on Jaime’s shoulder.

“Stop. What’s going on?”

Basically Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister were going to the dance together. And Cersei had introduced Robert to their father as ‘my boyfriend’ and Robert had acted like that was exactly what he was.

“Well maybe they are dating,” Brienne had shrugged, trying to get back to that suave grown up feeling she’d had earlier.

Except apparently they couldn’t be dating. Because the Baratheons and the Lannisters had known each other since childhood, and Cersei had hated Robert ever since he had broken her doll when she was five and then laughed when she had cried. She thought he was a boorish, uncultured drunk. She thought his many hookups were tawdry, his temper tantrums childish, his taste too flashy, and she’d been incredibly bitter about the Aerie’s decline in academic standards when he’d gotten his ‘letter of intent’ in August.

“Sometimes opposites attract?” Brienne had suggested, her eyes now rolling back in her head from boredom. She had another glass of champagne.

Except if you really thought about it—and it was clear Jaime had REALLY thought about it—Robert’s last girlfriend, Lyanna was just like Robert. They were both hard-partying, fun-loving spontaneous hot heads. Cersei drank wine and thought of parties as obligations. She was always running a play. What was her play?

“I don’t know Jaime,” Brienne drained her glass and poured a third. Not a date. Just Jaime being... Jaime.

“I’m sorry, I’m being a terrible bore,” Jaime realized, as she filled the third glass to the brim.

“Just a bit,” she said flatly.

“Let’s have a do over,” Jaime drained his own glass and filled it.

“Here’s to a wonderful night of dancing with the best company I could dream for,” he smiled. Brienne felt her cheeks heat up.

The remainder of the car ride was spent on more pleasant subjects like the greatest high school movies of all time or who the best dancer at the school was.

Then they got out curbside and Brienne walked into the school with her hand on Jaime Lannister’s arm and her chin held high.

They got approximately five steps in the door before Jaime froze.

Robert and Cersei were collecting tickets. Or rather, students were dropping tickets into a bowl as Robert massaged Cersei’s foot. They were sitting across from each other, and Cersei had her foot in his lap. At one point Cersei said something and Robert laughed and lifted her ankle up to kiss it. How was anyone even that flexible!

Jaime was stuck in place like he was about to lose his lunch, and Brienne had to practically drag him to the table.

“Two tickets,” Brienne mumbled.

“Tarth! How the hell are you?” Robert grinned. “You keep this one on a short leash, you hear? If he tries anything, just punch him in the jaw!”

He roared with laughter at his own joke and Cersei added her own bell-like titter.

“We need two tickets,” Brienne repeated stoically.

“Oh, you didn’t buy them in advance? It’s five dollars in advance and seven at the door,” Cersei explained. No, she hadn’t bought them in advance, because she hadn’t thought she would be coming. She flushed.

“Tell you what, since we’re all pals, I’ll let you in for free,” Robert waved his hand generously.

“Oh Robert, you’re so bad!” Cersei cooed.

“Maybe I just want the Lannisters in my debt,” he growled, and Cersei’s foot was definitely doing something in the lap area and Brienne flushed beet red. Normally, this would be where her smooth talking knight in shining armor rescued her. But Jaime hadn’t moved or said a word in ten minutes.

“Thanks Robert,” she said hoarsely, and grabbed Jaime and towed him violently toward the dance floor. Behind, she could hear two voices in merry laughter.

“Okay, that was totally weird,” Brienne admitted when they were out of earshot.

“Right?!” Jaime kept twisting and trying to look back. 

“But seriously, stop thinking about it. Let’s just relax and have a good time,” Brienne shouldered the doors of the gymnasium open. She looked around. It looked like the gym with the lights off. So far high school dances weren’t that different from middle school dances.

“Can I get you some punch?” Jaime asked, finally snapping back to chivalry mode.

“Um…” Brienne wanted to keep his mind off what they had just seen but also wasn’t sure she was thirsty after all that champagne.

“If you’re on the fence, it’s best to get it early. Everybody tries to spike it, so by the end of the night, the bowl is just a disgusting mix of vodka and rum and tequila,” Jaime advised.

“Okay, punch sounds good,” Brienne smiled. She was aware that people were looking at them with open bewilderment. Before Jaime had started following her around everywhere, that would have bothered her. But if hanging out with Jaime Lannister had taught her one thing, it was that a lion did not concern itself with the opinions of sheep.

Let them stare. She rolled her shoulders back and stood at her full height. She was on a probably-date and they could eat their hearts out.

Jaime returned with the punch. Then they danced, and he was every bit as graceful as she was clumsy. She felt her face going a bit red when she stepped on his feet for the third or fourth time.

“Brienne, the only way to get better is to dance more,” Jaime rolled his eyes. “Stop worrying.”

So she stopped worrying, and then more pop music played and they could just jump around. They ended up near Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand, all of them jumping together. More punch was in order, and the boys were dispatched to find some. 

“Amore, your dress is exquisite,” Ellaria breathed, tracing the sweetheart neckline. Brienne felt rather frumpy next to Ellaria, who was wearing a red wisp of silk that was cut all the way to her navel. Her dark Dornish coloring and frankly ridiculous curves made the red dress all the more provocative.

“Thank you,” Brienne blushed, wondering how to get Ellaria to stop touching her.

“You and Jaime must come out with Oberyn and I some time. A double date, yes? You two make such a striking couple,” Ellaria trained her smoky brown eyes on Brienne’s. 

“Oh! Jaime and I aren’t a couple, exactly,” Brienne stammered. “I’m not even sure this is a date.”

“Silly girl,” Ellaria tsked. “The boy is besotted with you. Anybody can see it.”

Brienne opened her mouth and then shut it. Besotted? Jaime Lannister, the hottest guy in their school was besotted? She knew it wasn’t true, knew it could never be true, but some tiny part of her brain lit up with happiness.

She was saved from having to answer by the return of Oberyn and Jaime. Immediately, she could sense that the mood had shifted. Oberyn’s forever smiling features were now tense, dark eyes brooding.

“Your punch ladies,” Jaime gave a courtly bow, but threw an uneasy glance at Oberyn.

“What’s wrong, my love?” Ellaria ignored the punch and drifted over to him.

“Rhaegar Targaryen is here. With Lyanna Stark,” Oberyn growled. “How dare he show his face back here. How dare he flaunt his happiness under my sister’s nose. Has he no decency? No honor?” 

Brienne glanced around the gymnasium. She spotted Lyanna, and there next to her was a tall slender man with silver hair. He was very handsome, she thought, but he seemed quite serious. An odd contrast to Lyanna, who was always laughing. Though she wasn’t laughing right now. Her face was tight and she moved with a coiled up energy, stalking through the crowd like a wolf in a cage. Then Rhaegar whispered something in her ear, and for a moment the tension disappeared.

“Come on, let’s dance again,” Jaime pulled her away from the fuming Oberyn, away from the strange sight of seeing the past made present. Is that what they looked like at spring fling last year, she wondered. 

But it was hard to keep those thoughts in her mind. Not when Jaime was pressing her close, feline green eyes lazily content. She brushed a stray strand of blond hair out of his face, and he smiled at her. Besotted? 

They were perfectly the same height, she thought. Funny how she had never noticed that before. Their eyes lined up, their noses lined up, their lips. She wet her own nervously. Jaime was watching her in a way she wasn’t quite used to, there was a certain energy between them that was prickling down her spine.

He’s going to kiss me, she realized.

“Brienne,” Jaime started, and his voice was deeper and softer than she was used to.

“STOP THEM!” A door slammed open flooding the entire gymnasium with light. Brienne jerked away from Jaime, oddly convinced that had been directed at her. “FORNICATORS!” It was Mr. Sparrow, shouting, pointing his finger, people were looking. Surely he didn’t mean her? “STOP THEM!” He screamed again, and then a girl screamed and the fire sprinklers went off.


	26. Stannis (Sadie Hawkins 5 of 6)

“You’re late,” was the first thing that Selyse said when she opened the door.

“What are you driving?” was the second.

Stannis’ jaw clenched.

He would have normally suggested sharing a car with Davos, but after the Sadie Hawkins betrayal, he was no longer speaking to that back-stabbing predator. Did the man have no decency?!

Perhaps he had not called “dibs” on Melisandre, they were not five years old after all, but he had made his intentions quite clear! And then, after all Melisandre had been through at the hands of that Greyjoy, somehow—somehow while Stannis was trying to give her space and be supportive— Davos has stolen her like the no good thief that he was.

So yeah, no bumming a ride in Davos’ truck. And he certainly wasn’t going to splurge on hiring a car. He wasn’t made of money. He had lowered himself to ask if he could borrow Robert’s car, but Robert only ruffled his hair and said “no can do bro” which was about as helpful as Robert ever was.

So he was driving his mother’s old Saab. There was nothing wrong with it, it was just the kind of car that a mother with two very young children might drive. He actually had some very fond memories in this car. Driving Selyse to Sadie Hawkins would not be one of them.

“Jaime Lannister hired a white limo to take Brienne Tarth to the dance,” Selyse sniffed as she got in.

“Brienne Tarth?!” Stannis found this surprising enough to ignore Selyse‘s acid tone.

“As friends I presume. Someone like Jaime Lannister would hardly be dating someone like Brienne Tarth,” Selyse sneered.

It was a relief when they finally got to the school, or at least it was a relief until they saw who was taking tickets.

He did not agree on much with his brother. Really the universe of things he and Robert saw eye to eye on was vanishingly small. But one of those things was that Lannisters were a nuisance to be tolerated only when absolutely necessary.

So what was Cersei Lannister doing with her head on Robert’s shoulder, gazing up at him with what, on the face of a different person, might have been called adoration?

And Robert! Robert was stroking her hair like one might pet a particularly docile cat. It was deeply unsettling.

“Is Cersei Lannister seeing your brother?” Selyse grabbed his hand. He jumped slightly, having forgotten she was there. He didn’t really know how to respond to that, but fortunately she didn’t seem to require a response.

“You realize what this means?” Selyse breathed. That Robert and possibly Cersei were victims of a terrible mind control experiment? Maybe they had both separately consumed hallucinogenics and then coincidentally found each other? What if he got her pregnant. What if Stannis ended up related to Tywin Lannister.

“Cersei could get prom queen back to back!” Selyse whispered. “It’s never been done in the history of KLP!”

Stannis grunted and approached the table. If Robert on drugs was anything like Robert drunk, he would be highly unstable and prone to fits of violence. Stannis let Selyse take the lead.

“Tickets in the bowl unless you’re buying at the door,” Robert said in a bored tone, barely looking at Selyse.

“How long have you been dating?” Selyse gushed to Cersei. Cersei smiled sweetly.

“Oh who knows when you first realize you’re attracted to someone. Perhaps on some level we always knew. We’ve been friends since we were children, you see.”

“Was that before or after Robert decapitated Malibu Barbie?” Stannis asked snidely. Robert looked up with a jerk, noticing him for the first time.

“Stannis?! What are you doing with HER?” Robert asked, looking back to Selyse with a combination of disbelief and annoyance. “Where’s Melisandre?”

Not even Selyse’s stupid fake smile could withstand that brutal dismissal. She dug her nails in to Stannis’ arm.

“The tickets dear,” she hissed. He dropped them in, and the two started for the door.

“Stannis! Look, um Sicily right, can I have a moment with my brother?” Robert grabbed him in what appeared to be an affectionate headlock and towed him into a classroom.

“I’m serious, what are you doing,” Robert hissed.

“I could ask you the same question!” Stannis snapped.

Robert had the decency to blush.

“Never mind that, it’s not important. You have a smoking hot redhead who wants to ride you like a pogo stick, and you’re wasting your time with Dumbo? And I want to be clear here, I’m not calling her an elephant, I’m saying her ears are so big that she can probably fly with them!”

Stannis blinked.

“So I take it you’re not telling me what’s going on with you and Cersei Lannister? The girl you once described as evil incarnate?”

Robert set his own jaw.

“No. This isn’t about me. This is about you and this colossally stupid fucking mistake you’re making. Stannis, this girl was a nightmare to you last year! She dumped you, remember! I don’t care what you did to fuck things up with Melisandre, just FIX IT!”

Robert walked back out. Stannis took a moment to try and get his temper in check. That hypocrite! Nightmare didn’t even begin to describe Cersei Lannister. How dare he get on his high horse when his own love life was the school’s most public disaster! He didn’t even know about Melisandre and Davos and he thought he could just show up like the Father himself and demand that Stannis fix things?! He didn’t even care! He just liked Melisandre because she was his friend’s little sister!

Stannis walked back outside.

“What did Robert want to talk to you about?” Selyse asked curiously.

“Disney movies,” Stannis said.

The party was in full swing when they walked in the gymnasium. Selyse didn’t want to dance of course. Instead, she wanted to chat with each of her friends individually, while Stannis hovered at her shoulder like some kind of manservant. He scanned the crowd disinterestedly, definitely not looking for anybody in particular like a certain former best friend and former love interest—there they were. By the punch bowl. They were looking at him and Selyse, and Davos gave a timid wave when he saw Stannis staring back.

Stannis turned haughtily back to Selyse’s conversation.

“If she goes with Robert, she’ll be certain to get it this year. Who else would they choose? Lyanna Stark?! Not after spring fling last year!” The girls tittered mindlessly.

He felt his gaze start to wander again. Sure enough, Brienne Tarth was dancing with Jaime Lannister. He didn’t care, but he might have to warn Renly. Baratheons and Lannisters didn’t mix. It was unnatural. He didn’t care what Selyse said, the two didn’t look like they were just friends.

“Stannis, get me a glass of punch,” Selyse ordered. He nodded absently and began to move  through the crowd.

He kept his head down, tried not to look at the people by the punch bowl. But even so, he felt someone grab his shoulder and then Melisandre was spinning him around.

She looked... she looked amazing. She was wearing black, and it was her color. A solitary jagged red slash cut across her breast almost like a wound. She looked dangerous and sexy and he wanted to grab her perfectly indifferent face and shake her.

Instead, he turned away from her and filled a cup on punch for Selyse and then a second for himself. He hoped that somebody had spiked it. Melisandre’s burning gaze haunted him.

He brought it back to Selyse, and for once she acknowledged him.

“Did you see who’s here?!” She hissed. Stannis looked at her tiredly.

“It’s Rhaegar Targaryen! With Lyanna!”

Stannis snapped his head, scanning the crowd. And sure enough, there they were in the center of the gymnasium. People seemed to shrink around them, so that wherever they danced, it was in a perfect bubble of isolation. Aesthetically, it was terribly beautiful and romantic. But Stannis thought it looked rather lonely.

Still. Pig headed asshat or not, Robert was his brother. And Lyanna had broken him. Some undefinable part of what made Robert Robert—the unshakeable confidence that everything will work out and then lo and behold it did—Lyanna had taken that. Stannis would never forgive her.

He suddenly realized that Robert was not a complicated person. Before Lyanna had dumped him, he had done most things for her. Now, he did most things because of her. Stannis remembered Cersei Lannister and gulped.

He hurried back toward the entrance. It was the only way in, Lyanna and Rhaegar must have come through. He got out of the gymnasium only to almost run into Ned Stark and Elia Martell. The three looked at each other. It was clear they had all had the same thought. Stannis looked down the hall to where it turned toward the front entrance.

“Stannis, maybe it would be best if it were you,” Elia said cautiously. “You won’t remind him... of them.”

Stannis nodded curtly. He walked down the hall, trying to collect his muddled thoughts, trying to find some shred of empathy for his brother. He wished there was somebody that he could beat up for Robert, like Robert had done for him. That was so much easier, so much simpler. But he and his brother had never been good at talking. He turned the corner, braced for impact.

Robert and Cersei were entwined in an embrace. 

Odd for he was so big and she so slender, but it seemed as if she were all that was holding him up. It wasn’t romantic exactly, but his head was buried in her golden hair, and she stroked his dark locks with a startling intimacy.

Neither of them were angled to see him, but Stannis doubted they would register his presence even if they were. Their world seemed to begin and end in that hug.

“When does it stop hurting?” Robert said, and the raw anguish in his brother’s tone was still more unnerving.

“I don’t know,” Cersei answered, and her voice wasn’t coquettish, just deeply tired. “But you are more than the part they are making you play. Don’t you dare let them win. Don’t you dare!” She shook him slightly, and he smiled at her, and the pain in that smile made Stannis feel still more uneasy so he left.

He loved his brother. It was a fractured and damaged love, but often broken things were stronger for the breaking. He didn’t understand what was between his brother and Cersei, but he was now less sure that it deserved his scorn.

“Is he okay?” Ned asked anxiously.

“He just needs to be alone for a minute,” Stannis said.

He thought he needed to be alone for a minute. The idea of the dark gym and Lyanna dancing and Selyse’s cold glare made him feel vaguely nauseous.

He wandered the empty classroom halls, idly searching for a water fountain. Finally, he found one and took a long drink.

Behind him, a door opened and shut. The beats of music cutting in and out. Finally, he stood, wiped the cold water from his face. He turned.

Melisandre was standing across the hall, arms folded.

“You avoided me.”

“You know why,” he said quietly.

“I do but it doesn’t make it any less stupid,” she sighed. “Come with me.”

Stannis did as she told him with some wonderment. Perhaps the punch had been spiked after all.

“In here,” Melisandre said, opening a door to a dark room. He ducked in and she shut the door.

“...this is a supply closet,” he said finally. It was pitch black and there was no room. He was inches away from her, could feel the soft exhale of each breath against his collar bone.

“I asked you to kiss me that night at Robert’s party and you didn’t. And you said later that you wanted to, but you haven’t tried since. I wanted to ask you to Sadie Hawkins, but I was scared you would say no.” Her voice sounded small, and he could not imagine haughty Melisandre saying any of this. He was suddenly glad it was dark, would not have wanted to see her so unmasked by his unkindness.

“I did want to kiss you... I mean I do. I just thought after Greyjoy that you would need some time...” he said hesitantly. “And then when you didn’t want to ask me at all, I was hurt, and then you asked Davos and I was crushed.”

“You didn’t give me much time to sort that out,” Melisandre said, some of her self-righteousness seeping back into her tone.

“Well you didn’t have to ask Davos,” he huffed.

“I didn’t think you would care.”

“Well I did,” he said stubbornly. There was a long silence, just the two of them in the dark.

“Then show me how much you care,” she whispered, and each word was a light caress in the still air.

He needed no further encouragement. He grabbed her shoulder with his left hand, traced her neck and her jaw line with his right. When he found her lips, he traced those too, and then he pressed his own down upon them.

A melting heat met him, and he sank into the sensation, feeling like he was falling in a glorious descent. There would be no return. She tasted like fire and smoke and cinnamon, and he was dimly aware of her hands raking his hair.

He pulled back slightly, and this close he could see the shadowed outline of her features, the faintest starlight of her eyes. How her perfect lower lip trembled and then he captured it, and pressed her back against the wall to trap her in this moment forever. There was a loud clatter as they toppled some buckets on the way back, and Melisandre laughed, a breathless wild laugh into his mouth.

He kicked one of the buckets away and looped his hand into her fiery hair, felt the silky strands like a thousand threads binding them together. He tilted her face up, and kissed her again, harder, needier, his free hand slipping down to the curve of her ass and held her between him and the wall.

“What’s going on in there?!” Said an annoyed voice, and then suddenly fluorescent light flooded in and the wall shifted and they fell out in an undignified heap together.

Stannis looked up into the watery old eyes of Sparrow, the world religions teacher. Melisandre was lying on his chest, and before anybody could say anything, she leapt to her feet, grabbed his hand and shouted “RUN!”

They ran together, hearing Sparrow calling angrily behind them, and burst through the gymnasium doors with a slam.

Melisandre darted through the crowd, and he barely registered the faces of people staring at them. Robert, looking absolutely delighted. Brienne Tarth, looking surprised and guilty?

“STOP! Fornicators! STOP THEM!” Sparrow yelled to the other teacher chaperones. But they didn’t stop. Not when Selyse saw them hand in hand and screamed, pulling the fire alarm. Not when the sprinklers came on and soaked everyone in a miserable mist.

They didn’t stop until they were outside, drenched, Stannis panting and Melisandre laughing and both of them deliriously happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huzzah! I'm sorry I made everybody wait so long, but our slow burn is finally showing signs of life and I hope it isn't a disappointment :)


	27. Mel/Jaim (Sadie Hawkins 6 of 6)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another arc comes to an end... hope you enjoy!

Melisandre woke up to the birds chirping. She hummed as she got up and got dressed and brushed her teeth.

She had some cereal and checked on Thoros. Still asleep. What a goose, she chuckled indulgently. He could sleep through the Long Night if he wanted to.

She got down to the apartment stoop a minute early and breathed in the heady smell of morning in the concrete jungle. There really was nothing like it in the world.

Davos pulled the truck up. Dear loyal Davos who hadn’t minded at all when they had disappeared on him at that dance. He’d said losing his date to a supply room closet had made him an object of fascination to many of the girls, and he’d gotten more numbers than he knew what to do with.

She hopped in the backseat. Davos grunted something monosyllabic and Stannis turned and smiled.

“Hi,” she beamed.

“Hi,” he said, flushing to the tips of his ears.

“Is Thoros coming?” Davos asked.

“Nope,” Melisandre said, eye contact with Stannis not wavering.

Davos gave a disgruntled sigh and put the truck into drive.

When they got to school, she heard the whispers again. People staring at them. She tossed her hair. Gossip was the refuge of little minds, it couldn’t hurt her.

Stannis carried her books to homeroom. The gossip wasn’t as bad for him. He said when he got home, Robert had bounced on his bed shouting that Stannis was the champion of the world. Robert had been in an especially good mood because Oberyn Martell had spilled his drink on Rhaegar Targaryen in the mad crush to get away from the sprinklers. If by spilling his drink you meant dumping it on Rhaegar’s head. But Robert aside, that seemed to be the reaction of most guys. Of course everyone thought they had actually been having sex in the supply closet and that Stannis had stolen somebody else’s date.

Certainly that was what Kinvara thought.

“It’s just too trashy for words,” Kinvara was holding court when Melisandre entered homeroom. Melisandre gave her a grin and that seemed to unsettle her more than a glare might have.

“P-poor Selyse,” Kinvara stammered slightly as Melisandre caught her eye. Then she scowled and doubled down. “I can’t believe she hasn’t been expelled. She’s a tramp and it’s disgusting and we shouldn’t be exposed to that kind of behavior. It’s girls like that who make guys think we owe them sex. And she basically ruined the dance for everyone!”

Arguably Selyse had ruined it for everyone by pulling the fire alarm, but Melisandre only winked at a boy sitting nearby who had been staring. He blushed. Let Kinvara run her mouth, her day of reckoning would come sooner than she thought.

“So like, are you guys boyfriend and girlfriend now?” Davos said at lunch, stirring the cafeteria clam chowder with his pencil. It had a gelatinous consistency that was disconcerting, but as long as you washed it down with water it wasn’t so bad.

Stannis fidgeted awkwardly.

“Um we haven’t actually discussed—“

“Yup,” Melisandre answered. Stannis blushed. He was so cute!

“Ah,” Davos nodded. “So are you going on a date?”

Now even Melisandre was feeling a little fidgety. What was with the twenty questions??

“Yes,” she said defiantly. “To the movies.” It was the first thing that popped into her head.

“When?” Davos folded his arms.

“This Friday,” she glared. Stannis was looking back and forth between them like he was watching a tennis game.

“Which movie?” Davos challenged. Melisandre froze. She didn’t really keep up on current events.

“A History of the Volantene Wars of Expansion,” Stannis said calmly. Um sure?

“That one,” Melisandre nodded.

“It’s playing at eight at the cinema at the mall,” Stannis continued. “Melisandre, does that work for you?”

She nodded again.

“Davos, what about you?” What?

“What?” Davos said, echoing her thought.

“For the movie?”

“Why would I be going on a date with you and Melisandre?” Davos said slowly.

“But you always come with us,” Stannis frowned.

“Right. And now that the two of you are,” Davos shot Melisandre a suspicious look, “...dating, I think you should have some alone time.”

“Nobody’s alone at the movies. Unless it’s a really bad movie,” Stannis countered reasonably.

“Well what about after the movie?” Davos asked.

“Davos, can I speak to you for a moment?” Melisandre said. “Over in that corner?”

Stannis still looked confused. Davos shrugged and followed her.

“What are you doing?!” She hissed.

“Proving a point,” he jutted his jaw out.

“Which is...” Melisandre scowled.

“That you two need to sit down and talk about what happened! Right now you’re both just floating on hormones and assuming that everyone’s on the same page. And literally every fight that the two of you have had is because you guys don’t communicate what’s actually going through your head!”

This was such a gross exaggeration. Melisandre rolled her eyes.

“I’m serious, you’d better talk to him. Don’t ruin the friend group,” Davos glared at her.

“What friend group?!” Melisandre snapped. “There’s just you, his friend, and me, his girlfriend. The two of us don’t hang out!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought until you spent a month ONLY TALKING TO ME after Robert’s party! Or how about when we had to spend an entire dance alone together! Somehow, every time you guys have a fight, it interferes with my life!”

“Well then fine, maybe you’re my friend too! Is that such a problem?!”

“No, as long as you DON’T RUIN THE FRIEND GROUP!”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

“Stannis, can I speak to you for a moment,” Melisandre said, seconds later. “Over in that corner?” She pointed at the corner she had just been yelling at Davos in.

Stannis followed her. Okay, Davos was being ridiculous, of course they were on the same page. But what if they weren’t on the same page?!

“Do you really want to be my boyfriend?!” She blurted.

“Wait, you don’t want to be my girlfriend?” Stannis looked alarmed.

“No! I mean yes? I mean I want to be your girlfriend but I don’t want to force you to be my boyfriend if that’s not what you want!”

Stannis stared at her for a moment quietly repeating the convoluted sentence.

“I want to be your boyfriend,” he said firmly.

“Oh. Okay. That’s good,” she said.

“Yes,” Stannis agreed, still looking at her uncertainly.

“So why is Davos coming on our date?” She asked.

“Do you not want him to come?” Stannis scratched his head. She thought of the miserably boring movie that she had just locked herself into.

“Oh I definitely want him to come. I just want to know why YOU want him to come,” Melisandre eyed him suspiciously.

“Because it serves him right for being such a pill,” Stannis gave a teensy smirk.

“Are you using this date to get revenge on Davos for embarrassing you?” Melisandre said slowly.

“Yes?”

He really was her soulmate.

___

He had been going to kiss her. Shit, what was he thinking. This hadn’t been part of the plan. He was just going to take her to the dance, make sure she had a good time. Brienne was his friend, wasn’t she?

Selmy had sent the entire football team on a long run to start practice, and most of the team ran in pairs or trios talking. They ran as slow as they could without attracting the coach’s ire, quiet laughter floating up between some of the pairs.

Not Jaime. He ran by himself, setting a brutal pace, and quickly had left the team behind.

Fuck. Fuck. Each time a foot hit the ground he repeated it. What had he been thinking?

The moment he met Brienne, he had liked her. She was just nice and good and saw through all the KLP bullshit in a way that was refreshing. As somebody who had more sycophants than friends, Jaime found it a breath of fresh air.

What he did know was that in that first moment, he hadn’t been attracted to her. He had thought her odd looking. He had maybe even pitied her a bit. He had definitely thought she was a he. He tried to capture that mindset again, tried to see the gawky overgrown freshman girl he had seen that night. But all he could see was Brienne laughing, eyes sparkling, blonde hair whipping in the wind. She wasn’t conventionally beautiful but she wasn’t unattractive. Just different.

Fuck. Fuck. He had let this spin way too far out of control. If he had kissed her, what then? She didn’t deserve to be jerked around, it was Brienne for the Stranger’s sake! Was he prepared to date her? To introduce her to his father?

The idea of Tywin Lannister getting anywhere near Brienne made his throat dry up. Of course not. He didn’t care if everybody else made fun of them. Fuck them. But his father would absolutely humiliate Brienne before she had made it through the front door. She would be mortified. She would never speak to him again.

And dating her... Jaime didn’t really do dating. Surely he and Brienne were better as friends? They were great as friends! And he had never felt the need for a girlfriend to have on his arm. He’d always had Cersei for that.

Ugh. Cersei.

Jaime rounded the track coming out of the woods. The football field was in sight. There lounging on the bleachers reading a magazine was his twin sister.

She looked up and saw him.

“Go team!” She shouted sarcastically. He flipped her off and headed to the water cooler instead.

First he dipped a towel, which he put on the back of his neck. It was shaping up to be an unseasonably warm fall, and running in full gear was no joke. Then he started to fill a bottle.

“You’re looking terribly serious,” Cersei suddenly appeared on the other side of the cooler. He glared at her.

“Trouble with Brienne the Beauty?” Cersei smirked.

“Don’t call her that!” He snapped. Cersei shrugged, a languid gesture that conveyed how little malice she was capable of feeling for someone so beneath her.

“It’s not my fault you fell in love with her,” she said snidely.

Jaime flushed. He wanted to shout that he wasn’t in love with her, but he wasn’t so sure that was true. Instead he decided to go on the offensive.

“You’re one to talk. Parading your fake boyfriend around the school.”

“I haven’t the foggiest idea what you mean by that. I adore Robert,” Cersei raised her eyebrows with faint amusement. Whether it was at him or the idea of adoring Robert, he wasn’t sure.

“Doesn’t it bother you that father hates him?” Jaime grumbled.

“I consider that one of his many charms,” Cersei looked off into the distance where the rest of the team was slowly making its way into view. “Is that really the only thing keeping you from dating Tarth?” Her scorn stung him.

“She’s my best friend! I don’t want to mess that up!”

Cersei shrugged.

“Before this year, I would have said I was your best friend. Things change.”

Before he could respond to that she had swiped the almost full water bottle and was gone, bouncing over to the rest of the team.

“Robby!” He heard her squeal, and Robert was laughing and emptying Jaime’s water bottle over his face to cool off, and playfully swatting his girlfriend on the butt.

He tried to imagine him and Brienne doing that. Or hooking up in a supply closet like Robert’s brother Stannis and his girlfriend. Or even just flirting in the hall like Ned Stark and Catelyn Tully. He didn’t see it.

So how to stop thinking of Brienne like that without losing their friendship? Distance. That was the key. They didn’t need to spend every waking moment together. Wasn’t the joke of walking her to class getting a bit old anyway?

The thought sustained him through practice, that he had some kind of plan for the two of them, a plan that would save one or both of them from broken hearts.

That feeling, that he had everything under control, lasted right up until ran into Brienne walking up from the girls’ athletic fields, field hockey stick in hand.

“Jaime!” She smiled, and he loved the way she said his name.

Distance, he reminded himself.

“Brienne,” he nodded to her and kept walking. She had to hurry to catch up.

“I thought of another movie for our best high school movies list!” She announced. “Superbad!”

“See I don’t think that’s a high school movie. Senior spring? It’s basically about moving on from high school,” Jaime fell back into this friendly banter so easily. He loved to disagree with her for the hell of it. But no. This was bad. This warmth pooling in his stomach, that someone who was not a Lannister might call butterflies.

“Tarth, I realized I’m a little late for jujitsu. Let’s catch up tomorrow, it was great seeing you,” he said, slightly formally for them. He jogged toward the parking lot, focused on the middle distance. But he had not turned his head fast enough, hadn’t missed the hurt in her eyes.

This was a shit plan.


	28. Mel/Ber (Thoros Turns Eighteen 1 of 10)

Melisandre was having a day.

“So I was thinking we could get a table at one of those Yi Ti restaurants and invite all of his friends and have a nice dinner,” she said to Robert Baratheon and Beric Dondarrion. The three of them were sitting around the kitchen table, Beric listening with polite attentiveness and Robert with the restlessness of a hyperactive child.

“OR we could rent out a bar and invite all of his friends and have a huge party!” Robert beamed.

“I don’t think Thoros’ friends would fill a bar,” Melisandre smiled tightly.

“What are you talking about?! Stormlands alone is like thirty people, center table and hangers on are another fifteen, I’ll have Cersei round up some window dressing,” Robert winked at Beric who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “And then I dunno the four or five other people that follow Thoros around. You and Jorah Mormont.”

“First, if you ever put me in the same category as Jorah Mormont again, I will set you on fire. Second, those aren’t Thoros’ friends, those are your friends! Third, we don’t have the money to rent a bar.”

“I have the money to rent a bar,” Robert responded promptly. “And Thoros is my friend, ergo my friends are his friends. It’s the transitive property of friendship.”

Melisandre glanced pleadingly at Beric for help. Robert also turned to look at Beric expectantly.

“Maybe we could sort of feel out Thoros for what he would prefer,” Beric squeaked. Ugh grow a spine, Melisandre thought. “Where is he anyway?” He asked quickly when neither seemed pleased with that answer.

“He’s scrubbing the temple fire pits for another two hours,” Melisandre checked the time. “You’re welcome to go over there and watch if you like him on his hands and knees.”

Beric shot her a positively venomous glare from his one good eye. 

“I think renting a bar sounds like a great idea!” He clapped Robert on the shoulder. Robert whooped. Melisandre seethed, unaccustomed to finding herself outmaneuvered.

“Okay good, because I already sent some hold the date texts,” Robert was now all business.

“You only found out about his birthday like an hour ago!” She fumed.

“Which is why I had to act fast,” Robert shook his head at her. “I think we should do Hollow Hill since that’s Thoros’ favorite.”

“It’s not his favorite, he works there!” Melisandre banged her head against the table.

“He does?” Robert looked mildly startled. “Well I’m sure he wouldn’t work there if he didn’t like it.”

“Let me guess, you’ve already rented it,” Melisandre growled.

“Yep!” Robert said. “Ravella Smallwood owns it, she’s like a cousin twice removed or something. I texted her the moment you told me.”

Melisandre massaged her temples.

“Don’t worry, it’s a great bar! I love that bar! And if I like that bar, Thoros likes that bar! We’re two peas in a pod,” Robert tried to ruffle her hair. She smacked his hand away.

“I would have said you were fire and gasoline,” Melisandre sniped.

“That too,” Robert said serenely.

“Right, so Robert is in charge of venue and guests,” Beric said, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“And booze!” Robert added.

“And booze,” Beric continued.

“Also music,” Robert jumped in again. Beric raised an eyebrow.

“Robert is in charge of venue and guests and booze and music,” Beric began again patiently. “I can make sure he gets to Hollow Hill without suspecting anything. What time should he be there?”

“Guests are arriving at 8:30, he should be there at 9, party goes until 1,” Robert said promptly.

“Great, and Melisandre can...” Beric paused, stymied.

“Show up to Robert’s party, I suppose,” Melisandre grumbled.

“You can convince my ungrateful ass of a brother to come,” Robert’s face darkened.

“Of course he’s coming,” Melisandre frowned.

“Not according to this text,” Robert pushed his cell over.

Melisandre read it. Her frown deepened. It was bad enough that Robert had somehow wrested control over Thoros’ eighteenth birthday party away from her and it was turning into his pool party all over again. But now her boyfriend wasn’t coming to her only brother’s eighteenth birthday?! 

“Why’s he not coming,” Beric asked as Robert reclaimed the phone.

“He is coming. Melisandre is going to use her feminine wiles to convince him,” Robert grinned, already happy again. At least that made one of them. “Now begone woman. Beric and I have to talk birthday gifts.”

“THIS IS MY APARTMENT!” Melisandre shouted.

An hour later, at someone else’s apartment…

“What do you mean you’re not coming to Thoros’ birthday party?!” Melisandre asked flummoxed. 

“I don’t like parties. I don’t like Thoros. Why would I go?” Stannis asked, genuinely bewildered. 

“What do you mean you don’t like my brother,” Melisandre said, her voice getting ominously calm. 

Davos, sensing explosion was eminent, clapped his hand over Stannis’ mouth before he could answer. 

“What Stannis means to say,” he gave Stannis a warning look and then removed his hand, “is that he just assumed closer friends would be attending.” 

“You’re attending,” Melisandre pointed out. 

“But he likes Thoros,” Stannis objected. Melisandre’s fingers twitched. One small slap? His face could really use some color right in his stupid cheek. 

“It just seems like one of Robert’s parties. If they’re not at the house, Stannis doesn’t go,” Davos explained. 

“And that was before you had a girlfriend,” Melisandre said in a treacly sweet tone. “Unless you wish to return to that state, you will attend my brother’s birthday.” 

“Selyse has loads of brothers. I never had to go to any of their birthdays,” Stannis grumbled. Melisandre felt her eye twitch. 

“Then by all means date Selyse,” Melisandre hissed. “We already know you have her on speed dial.” 

“Well I don’t know what to get him,” Stannis decided to change tactics. 

“I’m getting him rum,” Davos said, massaging his temples. “I can pick up an extra handle while I’m at the store?” 

“Problem solved,” Melisandre tapped her foot. “Next?” 

“Do I get to force you to come to events you don’t want to go to?” Stannis began to bargain. Was he going through the stages of grief? “Because there’s a military history exhibit at the Red Keep that’s supposed to be...” 

“You can force me to come to any of your brothers’ birthdays,” Melisandre responded smoothly. 

“That’s different, you like my brothers,” Stannis began. 

“If you say you don’t like my brother one more time...” Melisandre growled. 

“Okay, I’m proud of you both for communicating,” Davos jumped in, looking ready to pull his hair out. “This is all very healthy. Why don’t we just accept that Stannis has psychological issues related to Robert and that maybe Thoros triggers some of them by virtue of being...” 

“A lazy drunk? And I don’t have psychological issues related to Robert,” Stannis protested. They both looked at him and through the process of Stannis-related telepathy they had been developing, decided not to touch that. 

“My brother is not lazy!” Melisandre crossed her arms. “He’s very industrious when he wants to be.” That sounded weak, even to her. 

“Very industrious about getting drunk,” Stannis muttered under his breath. 

Melisandre clenched and unclenched her fists. Nobody insulted Thoros but her. Not even stupid stubborn asses with the most gorgeous eyes she had ever seen. Still. Where had Stannis been when she’d broken her arm when she was seven? Where had Stannis been when she’d gotten chicken pox for the second time, even though everybody said you could only get it once? Where had Stannis been when Kinvara’s greenhouse needed burning? 

“Stannis, have you considered that maybe it’s about doing something that would make Melisandre happy?” Davos prodded through gritted teeth. 

Stannis looked dubious. 

“She doesn’t seem happy,” he noted. 

“BY THE MOTHER’S LOVE, JUST COME TO THE FUCKING PARTY,” Davos erupted. 

Melisandre and Stannis stared. Melisandre didn’t think she had ever heard him swear. It was very disturbing. 

“You broke Davos,” Melisandre whispered. 

“Why is this my fault? It’s YOUR brother’s stupid party,” Stannis whispered back heatedly. Then louder, “Fine I’m coming to the party.” He smiled unpleasantly. “There, is everyone happy?” 

Nobody was happy. 

\----

“So,” Robert said expectantly when Melisandre had left. “What are we getting Thoros as a present?”

“We?” Beric scratched his head.

“Oh come on we have to go in on a present together,” Robert whined. “I don’t know what to get him.”

Beric did not know what to get him either, but did not see how Robert had made the jump to combining gifts. He wanted his gift to be special, to be personal, to say something. Something like even though you’ve never expressed interest in me as anything but a friend, I actually like you way more than that. Somehow he doubted Robert wanted that message to come from him as well.

Robert could clearly sense the reluctance in Beric’s face because he started the full court press.

“Beric we’ve always been really good friends,” he started. They had always been friendly. Not friends, let alone really good friends.

“We grew up next door to each other!” Down the street from each other.

“Remember that amazing 75-yard pass that I threw to you last year against Kings Landing Public that set a school record?” ...how was that even relevant.

“I threw it to you because I trust you to get the job done. You’re the most trustworthy person I know,” Robert put his hand on Beric’s shoulder. “You’ve never let anyone down in your whole life. I know you won’t let me down now,” cue massive puppy eyes.

“...Maybe I’ll ask what other people are getting and we can base our idea around that?” Beric sighed reluctantly.

Robert beamed.

“I knew I could count on you!” He thumped Beric on the back, and left the apartment, whistling a jaunty tune. Beric slid back down into his chair and buried his face in his arms on the kitchen table.

Melisandre was getting him an engraved flask. She added that Davos AND STANNIS (pointed tone hers not his) were getting him rum. Anguy was getting him rum. Jorah Mormont wanted to get him rum, but had settled for one of those belts that doubled as a bottle opener because his father had confiscated his fake ID. Clegane thought presents were for nancies. 

Beric was stumped. With Robert on board, the limit on the budget did not exist. That would be all well and good for Cersei Lannister, but it was entirely wasted on Thoros.

“If you could have anything in the world right now, what would it be?” Beric asked him casually the next evening as they drank beers on the roof.

“A beer,” Thoros replied promptly.

“You have a beer,” Beric rolled his eye.

“Another beer,” Thoros grinned. Beric sighed and got up and got him another beer.

“What now?”

“I dunno, peace upon mankind? I’m pretty content with what I’ve got right here,” he pulled Beric into a one-armed hug. Beric left his head on Thoros’ shoulder.

“You’ve got a birthday coming up,” he tried again. Screw subtlety. 

“Mel blabbed? I’ve always been surprised she didn’t get along better with Varys,” Thoros said nonchalantly.

“What do you want?” Beric asked bluntly. Thoros shrugged. “What do your parents usually get you?” Beric attacked from a different angle.

“For my sixteenth in Pentos they got me a calf,” Thoros smirked.

“A calf?” Beric repeated confused.

“To sacrifice to the Lord of Light for good luck.”

Beric stared. 

“…did you?” He asked finally.

“Yup. And it worked too! They got transferred to King’s Landing at the end of the year. And that’s where I met you,” Thoros tweaked Beric’s nose.

“I’m not getting you an animal to sacrifice.”

“Spoilsport.”

They sat in a companionable silence, Thoros looking for shooting stars and Beric brooding about what to get.

“When’s your birthday?” Thoros asked.

“Not till June,” Beric said. “But I assure you I will be much more helpful about gift ideas than you are being.”

“I should have known you were a summer child,” Thoros laughed. Beric made a disgruntled noise. 

“I’m not a child. I’m only nine months younger than you.”

“No need to be offended, my lord,” Thoros teased. “It was just a phrase they had in Ibben. Children born in summer were kinder and gentler than other children because they had never known anything but light.”

Beric thought of the night of the crash. Bleeding out on the highway, the unbearable pain and then the nothingness that was somehow worse. He touched the jagged scar around his neck.

“I’ve seen my share of darkness,” he said quietly.

Thoros shifted, pulling him into a hug from behind. He was warm and solid and his very presence seemed to banish that night to the deepest recesses of Beric’s mind.

“I know,” Thoros said into his hair. “But as long as I’m around, I’ll keep you safe.”

“From the darkness?” Beric had to laugh at his earnestness.

“That’s the thing about us red priests. We’re very good at building fires,” Thoros made a face and then they both laughed and the darkness felt very far away indeed.

“So what are autumn children,” Beric prompted.

“Amazing in bed,” Thoros replied immediately.

“Liar,” Beric took a swig of beer.

“I dunno there aren’t any sayings about autumn children. Winter children are tough and spring children are beautiful.”

“Now I know these sayings are silly. Spring children can’t all be beautiful,” Beric yawned. How late was it? He should consider going home.

“Name one who isn’t,” Thoros riposted.

“People are just in a better mood in spring, so the babies seem cuter. That’s why you heard all these sayings in Ibben and not Myr. I bet spring in Myr is exactly like summer is exactly like fall.”

“Are you trying to make me a summer child like you?” Thoros laughed. Beric huffed. And then he had the perfect idea for a present.

“I’ve got to go,” Beric gently untangled himself from Thoros’ arms. Already the gears were moving in his head, the strings he was going to have to pull to get this done by Friday.

“Why,” Thoros said lazily. “Just spend the night here.” 

“I think Melisandre would object. It’d be the third time this week,” Beric gave Thoros a stern look. Melisandre’s cold war against his constant presence had shown signs of heating up of late, and he was still rather scared of Thoros’ sister. 

“Pffff. She’s a winter child through and through,” Thoros stretched unconcernedly. He got up to follow Beric down.

“She was born when we were in Qarth, you know, which has very temperate winters.”

“Mmm.” Robert would be the first call. He for one would love this idea, and maybe he could take on some of the burden of planning.

“Proving your theory about climate over season of birth wrong.” 

“Mmmhmm.” He would have to do some research tonight, maybe talk to his parents. His parents… he hoped they would amenable.

“You’re not listening to me are you?”

“Mmm.” He just had to frame the proposition to them in the right way. As an opportunity, a chance for normalcy, for their poor crippled only child to feel like a real boy.

“I fucked Elia Martell in the library yesterday.”

“Mmm-what?!” Beric stopped and Thoros promptly collided with him from behind. 

“Just kidding,” Thoros gave an innocent smile. Beric looked at him suspiciously. “I wanted to see if you were paying attention. I obviously haven’t.”

Beric continued on.

“Yet,” Thoros added. Beric turned and glared. Thoros grinned.


	29. Brienne (Thoros Turns Eighteen 2 of 10)

It was probably in her head. Brienne didn’t have a lot of friends after all, and it was natural for there to be some ebbing and flowing to a friendship. Even Renly went to drama camp in the summer. 

Brienne left Aemon’s history class and looked around hopefully. No Jaime. She waited a few minutes, in case one of his classes had gotten out late, although with rapidly diminishing hope. The last few days, he hadn’t had much time for her between class. And of course she couldn’t sit at Center Table. Still, maybe he would be free after school? He had been pushing himself so hard with jujitsu and football practice lately, it would be good for him to take a break.

“Tarth! Tarth!” Brienne looked up hopefully, but of course it wasn’t Jaime’s voice at all. It was Robert Baratheon’s, and he seemed to be in high spirits.

“Listen, I don’t have your number yet. I need to add you to my Stormlands contact list,” Robert said pulling out his phone and giving it to her.

“Um sure,” Brienne said, starting to put in her contact info. “Couldn’t you have gotten it from Renly?”

“Little shit isn’t speaking to me, ever since I donated a bunch of his clothes to Goodwill.”

Brienne winced. Renly took great pride in his wardrobe.

“Well here you go,” she handed the phone back. 

“Great!” Robert typed something in and her phone immediately buzzed.

Friday, Hollow Hill, 8:30pm to 1am, Thoros’ Birthday.

“Are you inviting me to a birthday party?” Brienne asked with some surprise. She knew she was from Stormlands, but she hadn’t realized Robert thought of her much beyond being Renly’s friend.

“Yep, my friend Thoros. It’s a surprise party, if you want to bring a gift bring booze, and text me if you can’t find the bar.”

Brienne looked at her phone. The most popular boy in school had told her to text him. It had to be because she was friends with Jaime and he was dating Cersei. There was no other explanation.

“Um Thoros, that’s Thoros Asshai, right? Isn’t his sister—“

“The one Stannis fucked in the supply closet? Yep! They’re dating now. Chip off the old block, right?” Robert winked at her. Brienne blushed. She was going to say the girl who had started that business with the Greyjoys.

“I don’t know him very well, you don’t think he’ll mind?”

“Of course not, the more the merrier!” Robert looked genuinely surprised at the idea. “And invite whomever you want. Like if you have any girlfriends you’d like to bring along,” Robert grinned lecherously.

“Is your girlfriend coming?” Brienne asked pointedly. Robert looked briefly confused.

“Oh Cersei! Obviously. She is my girlfriend.”

“I know, I just said that.”

“Good, glad we’re on the same page,” Robert nodded as if they had reached some kind of meaningful agreement. The bell rang. 

“Well I should go,” Brienne said politely. Robert waved. She reminded herself to call Renly as she hurried to class. 

The idea came to her during a rather tedious study hall. She could invite Jaime. He would be welcome of course, but he probably hadn’t gotten an invite yet if Robert hadn’t gotten around to inviting Cersei. (And it rather seemed like he hadn’t.) And even if he already had been invited, well it was an excuse to see him. She missed having his running commentary on their classmates, his ridiculously cocky smirks, the way he looked at her like she was someone worth knowing.

She decided to catch him on the way down to the football fields.

He was walking with Addam Marbrand, a Westerlands senior, which slowed her approach some. She didn’t know Addam, but from a few of Jaime’s anecdotes, gathered that he was a childhood friend. Certainly, they seemed deep in conversation, and Brienne was loathe to interrupt.

Just as she was about to abort her mission entirely, Addam looked up. He nudged Jaime, and said something to him. Judging by Jaime’s strained smile, it hadn’t been altogether flattering.

“Tarth,” Jaime nodded. “Good to see you.” Brienne swallowed. She didn’t mind when Robert called her by her last name—he called almost everybody in the Stormlands by their surname, probably to avoid having to learn to tell the Durrandons apart. But when Jaime did it, it seemed almost like an insult.

“I was, I was wondering,” Brienne shifted her weight uncomfortably.

“Poor girl, we don’t bite,” Marbrand said in amusement at her reluctance, and Brienne flushed.

“I was wondering if you’d gotten Robert’s invitation to Thoros’s birthday party yet? I’m going and I thought if you wanted a designated driver, I could give you a ride?”

Jaime smirked.

“Why on earth would I be going to that?”

“Well you came to Robert’s last party,” Brienne began. Jaime stopped her.

“Listen, Tarth, you’re a freshman so it might take you a while to figure this out. Robert is like a dog. He’s very friendly and he’s very loyal, but he’s not that bright and you have to spend a lot of time cleaning up his shit,” Jaime began. Marbrand was openly grinning at the analogy, and Brienne glowered at both of them.

“Dogs pick up fleas. You can’t spend too much time with a dog or you’ll pick up fleas too. So if your question is am I going to the party Robert is having for his Essosi flea, the answer is no.”

“You wouldn’t say that to his face,” Brienne snapped. How dare he?! Not just say that about Robert, but say it to her of all people. Robert was Stormlands and more than that, Renly was her friend! How dare he disrespect the Baratheons in front of her like it was some kind of joke!

“Of course not,” Jaime raised an eyebrow. “And have to sit with Balon Greyjoy? I can’t imagine a worse fate.” Marbrand laughed at that, and the two continued their walk to the football field.

Brienne stared after them, her eyes burning. Who was that? Who had been so patronizing and unkind and dismissive? Not anybody she knew.

She was going to be late for field hockey practice, but she knew she couldn’t go and face the other girls and pretend everything was fine. For two months, she’d had a best friend. For a while she’d thought she had something more. And now he was gone.

She held it together until she got to the ladies restroom on the second floor of the library that nobody used. It was her secret spot, where nobody would intrude. And the moment the door shut, she looked down the row of stalls for feet. Nobody there. She pushed into the furthest one and started to cry.

The worst part was, it would have been better if she had never met him. She had resigned herself to the petty bullying, to being lonely. It hadn’t been anything she didn’t deal with in middle school. If she had never known Jaime Lannister, she would have never known to want more.

Brienne sniffled and scrubbed at her eyes with the palm of a hand. He wasn’t even worth it! The first time she’d seen him, she’d been so unimpressed. It was easy to be cruel. She’d always known that. There was nothing to admire about his hate-the-world routine. But then he’d been so genuinely repentant. And funny and interesting and sincere. She’d started to like him in spite of herself. The final straw had been the Greyjoy Rebellion, when he’d showed up to fight for her and then been just as pleased (more so!) to fight alongside her instead. He respected her and was willing to take her as she was. That was such a painfully rare quality.

She was about to burst into another round of tears when the door to the restroom opened again. Immediately she tucked her knees to her chest to avoid being spotted, hoping they wouldn’t try the last stall. She didn’t want to be found here, didn’t want to have to explain herself. It was while she was trying to keep her breathing shallow and not think about how much her nose itched, when she became aware that someone else was crying.

She waited for a minute or two, listening to the quiet weeping, and wondering whether the kindness of saying something would outweigh the embarrassment the other girl would no doubt feel. She no more wanted to intrude on this girl’s grief than she wanted to share her own. 

But finally her conscience would allow her to sit no longer. Putting her feet down, she flushed the toilet once for propriety’s sake and stepped out of the stall.

Catelyn Tully stood in front of the mirrors, head bent over a sink. Her beautiful auburn hair, normally pulled back in a thick braid, hung limply in front of her face, concealing her expression from view.

Even as Brienne took a step forward, Catelyn was turning. Bloodshot blue eyes fixed her with a watery gaze.

“Oh… I’m so sorry I didn’t realize you were in here.” Catelyn mumbled. She flicked a faucet and started dabbing water on her face, as if to conceal the salt tears with freshwater cousins.

“Are you alright?” Brienne bit her lip. Catelyn was a senior and likely to be valedictorian. Both bookish and beautiful, she intimidated Brienne on all fronts.

“Don’t mind me. I’m being terribly silly,” Catelyn gave her a tremulous smile. “Just in here crying about a boy.”

“I was too,” Brienne admitted, trying to make her feel better. Certainly Catelyn’s admission had lifted her spirits a little. If someone like Catelyn Tully had boy problems, what hope was there for the rest of them?

“I just… I found out that Ned Stark is taking Ashara Dayne to the party on Friday,” Catelyn admitted.

“Who?” Brienne asked bewildered. She knew who Ned Stark was of course, but she had never heard the other name before.

“Oh, you’re a freshman aren’t you?” Catelyn looked more closely at her. Brienne wondered if it was tattooed on her forehead or something. “She was a year ahead of me. She and Ned dated last year, and she broke up with him when she went to college. He told me that they were o-o-over…” Catelyn’s face crumpled again.

“I’m sure there’s been some kind of misunderstanding,” Brienne said loyally. “He would be a fool to choose anyone over you.”

“It serves me right for not trying to push him into dating me! We have fun at these parties, we’ve made out before, he’ll walk me to class—but we’ve never been on a date! Not one! I should have realized that was a red flag, I can’t believe I was so stupid,” Catelyn gave a rather phlegmy sniff.

“You’re the least stupid person in this school,” said Brienne firmly. “At least he kissed you! I just used to have a friend and now I don’t anymore.”

“Jaime Lannister,” Catelyn said. Brienne nodded.

“I asked him to go to the party with me and he completely blew me off. Which has been pretty par for the course of late. It’s like we’re not even friends anymore, and I don’t know what I did,” Brienne sighed. Saying it out loud made it seem horribly real and depressing.

“Maybe neither of us should go to the party,” Catelyn offered weakly.

“That is a TERRIBLE idea,” a third voice interjected. They both jumped. One of the middle stall doors opened and Cersei Lannister stepped out.

“You’re just going to roll over and give up?!” Cersei put her hands on her hips.

Brienne goggled. She was starting to think her super secret cry place wasn’t as secret as she thought. Not that Cersei appeared to have been crying. Honestly, she had no idea what Cersei had been doing.

“Look, Catelyn, if you don’t show up to this party, you’ll have let Ned get away with his behavior. He doesn’t get to think you’re on call for when Ashara Dayne’s not available, and if she is well then you’ll just stay home and read a book. You NEED to go to the party. Not only that, you need to bring a boy. Like, any boy. As long as he has a pulse. Ned just needs to see that if he’s not going to ask you out, you have plenty of suitors who will,” Cersei lectured the older girl.

Catelyn shifted uncomfortably. 

“It’s Wednesday and the party is Friday—I don’t think I can find—“

“Petyr Baelish,” Cersei said flatly. “You guys are friends right? Of course he’ll come.”

Catelyn pursed her lips.

“I can’t imagine Ned being jealous of Petyr,” Catelyn admitted.

“It’s not whether he’s jealous of Petyr, it’s about him realizing that he needs to lock you down! And if you don’t go, you’re basically insuring that he has sex with Ashara,” Cersei crossed her arms matter of factly.

“Look, your worst case scenario is you went to a party with a friend and had fun. Maybe Ned still ends up with Ashara but that will definitely happen if you stay home.”

Catelyn chewed her lip.

“I’m texting Petyr,” she said finally. Brienne gave her an encouraging smile. She didn’t really care for these mind games Cersei was peddling, but there was no question that not going to the party had a whiff of cowardice about it.

“And you,” Cersei rounded on Brienne.

“Me?” Brienne gulped. Her problem wasn’t even a boy problem like Catelyn’s. It was a Jaime problem. And Jaime was Cersei’s brother.

“Jaime’s making a big deal of being unavailable? Let him! Show him that you’re unavailable too! Friends can be replaced just as easily as boyfriends after all,” Cersei smirked. “Nobody is indispensable. Once he realizes that he can give you a hundred percent or nothing at all, he’ll choose a hundred percent. I promise.”

“So I should find a date to the party too?” Brienne asked dubiously. Easy for Catelyn Tully who had a billion boys fluttering around her. Less easy when you were six foot and had never lost a fight.

“Oh you have a date,” Cersei smirked.

“I do?” Brienne squeaked. Cersei flipped her hair, looked like the cat who ate the canary.

“Me.”


	30. Thoros (Thoros Turns Eighteen 3 of 10)

Thoros didn’t really believe in birthday nonsense. It wasn’t a big deal for R’hllorites—this birth just being one of an endless series that your soul had experienced. 

That being said, this particular birthday was off to a miserable start.

It had begun Thursday night, not even his birthday proper, when he had been assigned to work the door with Clegane.

Thoros did not have a bouncing philosophy per se, but it was generally his sense that their job was to deescalate conflicts. Clegane did not share that worldview. Every customer was just a fight waiting to be picked, and Clegane was truly a master at that art.

Or at least that was Thoros’ thought as he was picked up and flung across the room by an irate customer, coming to a skidding halt at the far end of the pool table. He had picked himself back up with a groan, only to see Clegane with the patron in a headlock, repeatedly punching the man in the face. They were absolutely going to get fired.

“Woah woah, we don’t kill them,” he tried to gently unwind Clegane’a arm from the fellow’s neck. Clegane gave him a glare but let himself be pried off. “We eject them,” Thoros continued, patting the man on his bloody head and gently pushing him out the door.

“Where’s the justice in that?! The cocksucker called me the Phantom of the Opera!” 

“The justice is that he got evicted and had to leave his beer,” Thoros sighed. Clegane walked over, claimed the beer, and drained it moodily.

“You’re dealing with that one,” Clegane pointed at the next person Lem was gesturing at them to evict. “He looks puke-y.”

Clegane proved prescient, and when Thoros staggered home, it was with the deep relief of someone who could finally change clothes. 

“Where have you been?” Melisandre asked before he could even sit down. “We’re going to be late for midnight service! Come on, let’s go.”

Thoros groaned.

“Can’t we skip it?! I’m beat and I’m disgusting Mel, I can’t go like this.”

Melisandre got that cold haughty look she sometimes got.

“It is your eighteenth birthday and we are going to midnight service. It’s tradition and you will not start your adult life as a heretic. I won't hear another word on the subject.” 

She swept by him, chin up, and Thoros had no choice but to follow.

It wasn’t until they were almost at temple when her nose wrinkled.

“That smell... is it coming from you? You smell like battery acid! Did you throw up on yourself?!”

“No,” Thoros said dully. “Someone else threw up on me.”

“That’s worse!” Melisandre drew back in disgust.

“I know it’s worse! I wasn’t presented with the fucking option of throwing up on myself or being thrown up upon!” Thoros was forced to drop his voice into an angry whisper as they passed through the temple doors into the inner courtyard.

“Well why didn’t you say anything?!” Melisandre whispered back, just as angry, as they found spots near one of the night fires. It was a crowded service, but Thoros found he didn’t have much trouble getting elbow room.

“You didn’t want to hear another word on the subject remember?!” He sulked. People around him were definitely staring. He was going to get another citation, he knew it. He’d spend the weekend of his eighteenth birthday collecting the piss pots of incontinent priests or whatever degrading punishment they could come up with next.

“You are covered in—“

“The night is dark and full of terrors,” the high priest began, stepping out from the shadows.

“Lord, cast your light upon us,” Thoros and Melisandre responded dutifully, still glaring at each other.

By the time he’d gotten to bed, it had been two in the morning.

At five in the morning, Melisandre had woken him up.

“Great Other,” Thoros groaned. “What now?”

“Mom and Dad wanted to Ravyn with us at 5:30. That’s 9:30 in Lorath and it’s the latest they could do before work.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Thoros mumbled, still half-asleep. 

“Because if I told you, you would have said no!”

“But I could have said no at a reasonable hour instead of five in the morning!”

“Look I know they’re useless but they’re still our parents and they just want to Ravyn their children on their son’s eighteenth birthday!”

“You Ravyn them then.”

“It’s not my birthday!”

Thoros sighed and opened his eyes.

“Is this that important to you?”

“Yes!”

“Okay I’m up.”

Didn’t your birthday mean doing what you wanted? Thoros thought groggily as he got dressed.

“You can’t wear that hoodie,” said the fashion police. “It’s covered in vomit. Also you never sewed it up after the fight with Euron, it’s more holes than sweatshirt.”

Thoros conceded the point and decided he’d throw it in the laundry once they finished Ravyning their parents.

When he emerged with a red t shirt, Melisandre was walking through the apartment with a mirror, sitting in different places and staring intently into the mirror.

“What are you doing?” Thoros asked finally. “Is this some kind of ritual I slept through during temple school?”

“I’m trying to see where we should sit that will involve the least amount of apartment cleaning.”

“Apartment cleaning?” Thoros repeated. His brain had not started firing on full cylinders yet, but he got the sense that a ritual would have been preferable to whatever this was.

“Of course! Why do you think they want to Ravyn instead of call? They’re going to be trying to see if we’ve burned the apartment down yet,” Melisandre scoffed. “I think the kitchen is best. That way they won’t wonder why we have two sofas.”

“Okay,” Thoros shrugged.

“Well?” Melisandre put her hands on her hips.

“Well?” Thoros gave back.

“Get out the vacuum, clean the kitchen floor and then give the table and counters a quick going over with the Lysol wipes,” Melisandre snapped.

“Make the fire, fix the breakfast, wash the dishes, do the mopping,” Thoros muttered under his breath looking for the vacuum. Did they even have a vacuum?

“Closet on your right Cinderella,” Melisandre said over her shoulder as she disappeared back into her room.

She re-emerged when he was almost done, wearing a cutesy sundress and pigtails, looking like she was five years younger. 

“Brush your hair,” she said, as she worked to get her laptop on the counter aimed at the perfect angle to capture as little of the kitchen as possible. Thoros, feeling a little bit like he was on the sound set of the weirdest television show ever, gratefully put down the duster and complied.

“No top knot!” She shouted after him.

“Look, Mel, our parents do remember who we are. I’m not sure they’re going to believe we’ve evolved this much,” Thoros sighed.

“As you give this morning’s performance, just consider whether you want to be going to Lorath over winter holiday,” Melisandre said snidely.

Lorath. In the Shivering Sea. In winter. Point taken. No top knot. He considered shaving but decided there was no time. Sure enough, he could hear the buzzing of the incoming Ravyn call as he hurried back to the kitchen.

“Okay parents incoming in three... two... one...”

“Hi Mom! Hi Dad!” Thoros waved like he was friggin’ Miss Westeros. Melisandre ran back around to the table and slid into the seat next to him, cuddling up to fit in the view-screen.

Naturally their parents were having less success. He could see the top of his mother’s head and nothing else.

“Look it’s the kids!” He heard his father say excitedly off screen. “Happy birthday son!”

“Happy birthday Thor bear!” His mother echoed. He did not wince at the nickname, he did not snicker through the ten minutes of them finally getting the computer set up so that both their faces were visible.

“So what have you been up to?” His mother finally prompted them.

“The usual, going to temple mostly,” Melisandre clasped her hands. Thoros thought it safest to simply nod.

“How are your friends Mel? What’s Kinvara getting up to?”

Melisandre didn’t miss a beat.

“She’s well. I was just talking to her the other day and she was saying how she felt like I spend too much time at school.” Thoros did smirk a little at that one.

“Well it’s good to focus on your studies,” their father jumped in. “What about you Thoros? How are your classes going?”

“Um...”

“Thoros is doing fine. He’s actually tutoring another student in Valyrian,” Melisandre put in.

“Always a good way to earn a little extra money,” their father said approvingly.

“He does it for free,” Melisandre offered, with just a hint of smugness. “It’s so generous of him to spend his free time helping the less fortunate, don’t you think?”

Oh game on.

“Melisandre’s my inspiration of course. She’s been helping the teachers restock the supply closets,” Thoros patted her on the head just a little harder than was necessary.

“Thoros took up baseball,” Melisandre added, ‘playfully’ elbowing him.

“Melisandre went to a fascinating documentary on Volantene military history the other night,” Thoros drawled, tugging one of her pigtails sharply. “Maybe you’d like her to provide a brief summary?”

“Oh dear, I’m not sure we have time for that,” their mother looked torn between alarm and relief. “I must say, the two of you are certainly thriving with a little independence. Thoros, you’re not wasting too much time drinking or flirting with girls are you?”

“He hasn’t been flirting with girls at all,” Melisandre got the last jibe in. Little brat.

“Well happy birthday, son! So good to see you both! Dear, we’re going to be late for morning service,” their father cut in. Everybody waved and the call ended.

Melisandre sprung away from Thoros as if she had been scalded, narrowly avoiding a headlock. He was too tired to give chase. Instead he threw his hoodie in the wash, took a nap, dumped it in the dryer, and then fell soundly asleep just in time to miss the morning bus.

On waking, somewhere between second period and third, Thoros discovered that he had put his hoodie in with a load of his whites. Well formerly his whites. Now his pinks. But pink was really just a shade of red. He decided that he had created a whole new category of temple-approved outerwear for his wardrobe.

When he finally did make it to class, Selmy gave him detention. That guy was really warming up to him, he knew it.

“Are you wearing pink socks?” Clegane sneered when he sat down at lunch.

“Please allow me to practice my constitutional right to freedom of religion in peace,” Thoros sniffed.

“They look very jaunty,” Beric said loyally.

“They look very gay,” Clegane stabbed a piece of what passed for meatloaf with his knife. “You better ditch them before work tonight.”

Thoros had been contemplating soaking his meatloaf in his water to moisten it, but looked up sharply.

“I don’t have work tonight. I’m seeing The Faceless Men 9: Rat Cook Cometh with Beric.”

“They need extra hands at the bar. Harwin specifically asked for you.”

“Well he can specifically ask for Aegon the Conqueror, it’s not my shift,” Thoros gritted his teeth. It was his birthday and all he wanted to do was sneak a six pack into the theater and watch a stupid gore fest with Beric. Lord of Light, was that too much to ask?!

Apparently it was.

“If you don’t show up, you’ll be fired,” Clegane gave a nasty smile. “Cheer up, you’ll get paid for overtime. Maybe you can buy some less faggy socks.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Beric put his hand on Thoros’ back. “We can see it another time. I’ll drive you to the bar.” Thoros resisted the urge to put his head in Beric’s lap. What had he done to deserve this?! Aside from showing up to temple in vomit stained rags, but that really wasn’t his fault. And aside from the drinking and the swearing and the incredibly inappropriate thoughts about his best friend, which were definitely his fault.

“Fine. Which shift?”

“Nine to one,” Clegane grunted, and, having improbably managed to consume all of his meat loaf with no ill effects, left the table.

“Do you want to get dinner beforehand?” Thoros asked Beric hopefully.

“I have to run some errands actually,” Beric said, looking apologetic. “But I’ll pick you up around 8:40?”

“Sure,” Thoros took a bite of his lunch moodily and managed to force it down. “Sounds good.”

8:40 found him lying on the sofa in his apartment, staring at a crack in the ceiling and trying to decide if it had always been there.

He’d had cereal for dinner. Melisandre had been mysteriously absent and they still weren’t speaking to each other and burn him if he would break first. Jorah was still grounded. Robert had to see a guy about a thing. Anguy had refused to stay on the phone because he was convinced the government was listening in—Thoros wasn’t sure what drugs had caused that trip, only that he wanted no part of it. And between last night and tonight, he was already seeing quite enough of Clegane.

His phone buzzed to a text from Beric— _Here!_

“Did you have a good birthday?” Beric asked when he climbed in. He sounded so hopeful that Thoros didn’t have the heart to let him down.

“Loads of fun,” he said easily, and Beric gave him that blindingly genuine smile of his, the one that reminded him how good Beric was, the one that made Thoros want to try to be the person Beric had mistaken him for.

“Well I hope work doesn’t suck too much tonight,” Beric pulled into the parking lot. It was unusually full, so it probably would. Nothing improved a drunk person’s temper like waiting an hour for a burned burger.

“It’ll be fine,” Thoros responded on autopilot. “Thanks for the lift,” he leaned his head against Beric’s shoulder for a second. Beric rested his head on Thoros’ head, and Thoros really really thought about bagging the whole thing and going to the movies. Fuck it, this job had lasted longer than any other job he’d ever had. Maybe it was time for a change.

“C’mon, don’t be late for your shift,” Beric nudged him like the dutiful and committed person he was.

Thoros groaned and got out of the car. He trudged to the front door, pushing it open, ready for the surge of obnoxious drunks and angry drunks and puke-y drunks. The lights were off. Fuck this, was it a power outage? Was this Clegane’s idea of a joke? He fumbled for the switch.

“SURPRISE!” At least fifty people shouted and Thoros nearly jumped out of his skin. As it was, he only staggered slightly, to see every friend he had in King’s Landing grinning at him. And one who wasn’t in King’s Landing. Or at least hadn’t been.

“Tormund?!”


	31. Jaime (Thoros Turns Eighteen 4 of 10)

Jaime was playing video games when the door bell rang. He didn’t bother to get it. He wasn’t expecting a guest and Tyrion was at some after-school activity. His father was at the office. Which meant it was somebody Cersei had invited and she could answer the door for her own bloody guests.

He turned back to the first-person shooter and was about to smoke some idiot when the door bell rang again. With a groan he got up and looked out the window.

It was Brienne. Wearing jeans and some kind of silky top. His heart skipped a beat and then he clenched his fist. Tonight was the night of that party Brienne had invited him too. They hadn’t spoken since that afternoon on the path to the athletic fields. She had obviously gotten the picture that they needed to take a step back. Or he thought she had. But what was she doing here?

Even though she had no business showing up at his house, he felt a little bubble of happiness at seeing her. It was like giving a man in the desert a glass of water. He remembered the way she had looked at him at school, fury and disgust and worse, disappointment. Like she knew he could be better. 

He pushed down a lump in his throat. It was better this way. And they could still be friends once his inconvenient feelings had gone away. All the same, he took the steps two at a time as he went down to let her in.

“Brienne!” He opened the door, intercepting a third doorbell ring. He knew from her conflicted expression that it had come out wrong, too happy, too excited, for whatever they were now. He cleared his throat.

“What are you doing here?” His voice came out smoother, cooler. He could see the sting register on her face as if she had been slapped.

“I told you, Robert invited everybody to Thoros Asshai’s birthday party,” Brienne glared at him, straightening her posture.

“And I told you, I’m not going. Just because Robert likes to slum it doesn’t mean we all do,” Jaime crossed his arms defiantly.

“I am not here for you,” Brienne bit out, looking like she would very much like to take a swing at him.

“What?” Jaime asked nonplussed. Whatever he had been expecting in response to his provocation, it hadn’t been that.

“I am not here for you,” Brienne repeated slower and with a slightly condescending tone that annoyed him unspeakably.

“Then why exactly are you here?” Jaime raised an eyebrow and leaned against the doorframe. This ought to be good.

“She’s here for me,” Cersei said behind him, her voice dry.

Jaime spun, momentarily speechless.

“That’s a very flattering shirt for your build, Brienne,” Cersei eyed her up and down. Brienne blushed. “Do you mind if we do something with your hair and a little makeup?”

Jaime trailed Brienne who trailed Cersei up the stairs, still trying to wrap his brain around what was unfolding.

“Robert said we had to arrive by 8:30,” Brienne protested slightly as Cersei pushed her down in front of her vanity mirror.

“Robert won’t notice or care if we’re five minutes late. You’re lucky, the bob look is very in right now,” Cersei pulled was running her hair through Brienne’s locks almost possessively. “Let’s just fluff it up a bit.”

“You’re going to an open bar at Hollow Hill,” Jaime addressed Cersei skeptically, trying to ignore how much it irritated him that his sister was touching Brienne.

“I am going to the party that my boyfriend is throwing for his best friend, yes,” Cersei cast a scornful look over her shoulder.

“Ned Stark is Robert’s best friend, not Thoros Asshai. But don’t worry, you’ve only been dating your fake boyfriend for a month, you still have plenty of time to nail down these minor details.”

“Ned is Robert’s brother,” Cersei parried. “Thoros is his best friend. And I wish you would be more accepting of our relationship. Your skepticism wounds me deeply.” She added just a hint of blush on Brienne’s cheekbones, not seeming wounded in the slightest.

“Brother? What does that make Stannis and Renly,” Jaime sneered.

“I really couldn’t tell you,” Cersei replied unconcerned. “Ta da,” she spun Brienne so she could see herself in the mirror.

Jaime personally didn’t see much difference, but Brienne had a small smile on her face. Jaime wished he had been the one to put it there.

“I think it looks very nice,” Brienne touched her hair as if she couldn’t quite believe it was hers.

“Now let’s go, I shudder to think what Robert is doing with the decorations without me,” Cersei rolled her eyes. “I swear, Renly got all the taste in that family.” Both girls giggled.

“He’s not your boyfriend!” Jaime shouted after Cersei in frustration, although at what he was undecided. Cersei didn’t even deign to respond.

“You can still come with us,” Brienne said softly, lingering for a moment on the stairs.

Jaime opened his mouth to respond.

“Just leave him, Brienne,” Cersei shouted as she opened the front door. “It’s his own fault he’s a silly ass.”

The idea of backing down to Cersei was unimaginable.

“Have a terrific time,” he said to Brienne sarcastically. “Try not to catch any fleas.”

With a flush of anger, Brienne hurried down the stairs. He heard the door slam. Jaime sauntered back to his room and unpaused the game. He took a shot or two, and then had to pause it again to wait for his head to clear.

Jaime had unquestionably won that encounter. So why did it feel like he had lost?

He had won. He had shut Cersei up, no easy task. He had maintained a cool distance between himself and Brienne with only a minor hiccup at the outset. So why was he trying to remember how long the drive was to Hollow Hill?

Jaime gritted his teeth and turned the game off. This wasn’t just about Brienne now. Cersei had somehow gotten into his head like she always did and was using Brienne to mess with him. Just like she was doing with her stupid fake boyfriend. And now she was using the fake boyfriend to befriend Brienne. Oh this plan had layers.

Well it wasn’t going to work. Going to Hollow Hill was what she wanted him to do. She was using Brienne as bait for whatever machinations she had going. So he would do exactly what she least expected. Nothing.

He got up and paced a bit. He had to keep his mind off of them, that was the trick. Not to think about what Cersei might do with Brienne in her clutches. What she might say about Jaime on the car ride there. No, he had to distract himself.

Maybe he’d go on the computer. See what was on the old inter webs. Google Maps said that it was a twenty minute drive to Hollow Hill without traffic. Jaime flinched and quickly exited the screen.

Okay computers were a bad idea. He needed to talk to somebody. He’d call Marbrand.

Addam picked up on the third ring.

“Jaime, what’s up? I have a sure thing with that Spicer girl in ten minutes, so make it fast.”

“Nice,” Jaime snorted. “I guess that’s a no on drinking and video games?”

“It’s a seven hells no, Lannister. We’re going to The Faceless Men Nine—she’s going to be in my lap before the first murder.”

“In your lap face down, I presume,” Jaime chuckled.

“Naturally. I’m surprised you’re not at Robert’s party! You could be getting the same treatment from that Stormlands freshman!”

“Please, she’s hardly my type,” Jaime forced a laugh.

“Too good to close your eyes?” Adam snorted.

“No, I mean, I just don’t want to hurt her feelings, she’s a kid.” 

“You’re hardly the white knight type, Lannister. Save that schtick for Dondarrion. Remember after the division championship last year when he convinced those Convent of the Maiden freshmen that they needed to spend more time focusing on their studies instead of flirting with older boys? I thought Meryn Trant was going to cry!”

Jaime did laugh at that memory.

“I thought Robert was going to cry! He was so sure he was going home with both!”

“Greedy bastard! I still think you’re missing a hell of an opportunity skipping his party. He has an eye for the ladies, and now that he’s cuffed, you’d have your pick.”

“Cuffed?” Jaime asked confused.

“Banging your sister! Driving all the way to her endzone!”

Jaime groaned.

“Fuck off Marbrand.”

“Was that in poor taste? But the point stands. Get off your ass and get over to that party!”

“If you want to go so badly, why don’t you go?” Jaime asked peevishly.

“Because I wasn’t invited dickwad! Anyway, I’ve got to go put a little Spice in Miss Spicer’s life. Or in her mouth at least.”

At that charming image, Jaime hung up. He flopped backward onto his bed. His cell buzzed, and he glanced at it lazily, sure it was another off-color joke from Addam. It wasn’t. It was a text from Cersei.

_Stop sulking and come out and play._

Jaimes huffed, his suspicions as to Cersei’s ulterior motives confirmed. Staying at home had been the right move, no matter what Addam Marbrand had to say about it.

_Grow up and find other friends to play with._

Jaime smirked at his response text and then rolled over. Maybe he’d take a quick nap. His eyes drooped. He thought of Brienne in that top she’d been wearing. He thought of Brienne wearing no top at all.

When he woke up, it was with the dizzy disorienting sense of not knowing how much time had past. He’d left his clothes on, the lights were still on, but it was quite dark.

Sleepily, he rolled over and checked his phone. Just one text, from Cersei.

_Pity. I’ve never played well with others. Just ask Varys._

Jaime reread it groggily. Cersei had never had much to do with Varys beyond some symbiotic gossip mongering. Gossip. Varys’ gossip blog.

With a sense of impending doom, Jaime typed in the address. The first item read “Beauty and the Beast.” 

He clicked.

It was a picture of Brienne, kissing a tall wild haired ginger. 


	32. Thoros (Thoros Turns Eighteen 5 of 10)

Thoros thought there might be something wrong with his face. He couldn’t stop smiling, and it was starting to hurt.

First had been the grand surprise. He’d seen everybody waiting for him, all of his friends, and all of Robert’s friends (a considerably larger category) and Tormund, who wasn’t even in Westeros!  And he’d known he had one person to thank for all of this, even if she was an obnoxious little know it all who was too bossy for her own good.

He’d looked at Melisandre, and she’d raised an eyebrow like he had been a total idiot but she’d be prepared to forgive him. That was about as close to unbending as she ever got, so he’d grinned and taken a step forward to give her a giant embarrassing bear hug—

When Tormund hurled himself into Thoros’ arms.

“Thoros! My favorite drunk! By the old gods, I think you’ve gotten smaller! You’re not getting enough seal blubber in your diet!”

He might have grown another six inches, but Tormund was exactly the same guy that Thoros remembered from Ibben.

“I’m not short! You’re just really tall!” Thoros protested. “Doesn’t mean I can’t still drink you under the table!”

Tormund, his hair even more orange than Thoros remembered, laughed heartily.

“That’s what you said the night before you left! I had to carry you home, ring the doorbell and run!”

“I was drinking to forget I was leaving! Turns out it takes a lot of drinks to forget a hurt like that!” Thoros put a hand on his heart like the blow had been unbearable. What had been unbearable had been the hangover the next morning. “What are you even doing here?”

“We moved to Hardhome last year! Your sister said if I took the train down, I could crash with you lot, and I couldn’t say no to a party! Gotta teach your southern friends how to thrown down, don’t I?!”

Tormund punched his arm and Thoros laughed.

“Robert! Come over here! This is Tormund, he’s from up North and he wants to teach you how to throw down!”

Robert, in his element, swaggered over with a broad smile.

“Are we talking drinking, fighting or fucking, because I’ll kick your ass in all three.”

Tormund gave Robert a hard stare, and just when Robert started to look fidgety gave a bark of laughter.

“I love your friends! Robert is it?” Tormund slung an arm around his shoulder. “Have I told you about the time I fucked a bear?”

The two disappeared into the crowd and then finally Thoros could reach his sister. The momentum for a hug was gone, but he kissed the top of her head.

“You’re not a total loss,” he said gruffly. She rolled her eyes.

“Open your present from me. It’s the one in the blue box that’s not a handle of rum.”

Thoros turned to look at the table for the presents and had to laugh. At least people knew what he liked.

He opened the box. It was a silver flask, gently used. What was brand new was the engraving, an intricate spiral representing the traditional blessing of R’hllor upon long journeys.

He traced the spiral and blinked at Melisandre, wondering when it had gotten so fucking bright in this bar. These lights were blinding, it was enough to make a man tear up.

“You’re such a baby,” Melisandre rolled her eyes.

“Oh fuck off,” Thoros saluted her with the flask. “Let’s baptize this sucker. Who gave me the best rum?”

“Stannis probably. He’s trying to weasel his way back into my good graces.”

“What’s he done?”

“He wasn’t coming to your party!”

“Doesn’t seem like much of a man for parties.”

“He called you a lazy drunk!”

Thoros cocked his head. Women. Melisandre called him worse before he got out of bed in the morning. He opened the bottle and carefully filled the flask.

“Well here’s to Stannis and his time in the doghouse,” he smirked and took a swig. It was good. He passed it to her and she wrinkled her nose but took a sip.

“What do you think?” Someone hugged him from behind and he let his head tip back and smiled up at Beric.

“It’s dark with notes of vanilla. Not quite sweet enough for my taste but very classy and packs a punch. I think she should forgive him,” Thoros said nonchalantly, proffering the rum to Beric. Melisandre harrumphed and swept off with a flick of her scarlet skirt.

“I meant the party,” Beric sighed in mock exasperation as he took a swig.

“It’s amazing. You’re both amazing,” he reclaimed the flask. Trading back and forth reminded him of that first night on the beach, how he’d wanted to kiss him, a total stranger.

“Thoros!” Robert emerged again, Tormund in tow, holding a handful of goat horns. Thoros mentally winced, knowing what was coming.

“Tormund says in Ibben you drank fermented goat’s milk from these horns!”

“Aye,” Thoros took a horn. Beric cautiously took one too with a glance at Thoros. His poor summer lord, he’d regret this later. Robert handed one to Tormund and kept the last.

“I told him we southerners can drink anything the northerners can!” Robert boasted.

“We can,” Thoros smirked. “I question whether we’d want to.”

“Don’t listen to him Rob! The sot’s just too attached to his fancy Myrrish rum! First one to drain a horn buys the next round!”

“It’s an open bar!” Robert laughed.

“All the more reason to win,” Tormund waggled his eyebrows. Knowing there’d be no deterring them, Thoros rapped the table for attention.

“On three! THREE-TWO” he immediately started chugging.

“Hey!” Three voices shouted, as everybody frantically tried to catch up. Thoros finished and slammed his horn down with a belch.

Tormund finished next, Robert a hair behind him, and finally Beric, looking slightly green.

“That’s... putrid,” Beric coughed.

“You’re not wrong,” Robert swallowed, looking vaguely ill.

“Aw what did I tell you, these southern men are pansies,” Tormund scoffed, the dregs of the milk dribbling down his beard.

“Well it’s my round boys, and you know what...” Thoros struck a mock thoughtful pose. “I’m thinking some fancy Myrrhish rum!”

Two of the three cheered heartily.

They did shots of rum and then Robert banged his glass.

“Time for presents, while I can still remember the look on your face when you get mine!”

Beric shot him a look.

“Ours,” Robert amended hastily.

“It’s not rum?” Thoros asked bewildered, gesturing to the table full of it.

“Ned! Oberyn! Mace! Get over here, we’re doing presents!”

Thoros raised an eyebrow. He was honestly surprised Mace was invited to the party, let alone to whatever group present this was. He wasn’t exactly close with Robert.

The three hurried over. Or Ned and Mace hurried and Oberyn strolled with the same blithe attitude with which he did most things.

“Okay, who’s first?” Robert looked at Beric.

“I’ll go first, then Oberyn, then Ned, then you and Mace,” Beric smirked at Thoros’ baffled expression. He handed him a box.

Swim trunks. Red swim trunks, which was fortunate, or he wouldn’t have been able to wear them. Solid.

“Thanks Beric! I guess I’ll be ready the next time I take an impromptu plunge into Robert’s pool,” Thoros grinned. He wondered if that was the significance of the gift, if Beric often remembered him as they first met, sopping wet in his jeans and good shirt.

Oberyn gave him a pair of aviators that looked exactly like the kind Oberyn always wore. Thoros tried them on.

“You don’t pull them off as well as him,” Beric admitted.

“Take heart,” Oberyn clapped him on the back. “Nobody pulls off anything as well as I do.”

Ned, blushing a brilliant red, handed over his gift.

“I’m sorry,” he winced in anticipation. “You-know-who was very insistent about what I get you.”

“You-know-who thinks you should shut your trap and let Thoros open his gift!” Robert was practically hanging off Ned in anticipatory glee.

Thoros opened the box to find another box. He opened that box to find a bunch of paper and shook out the paper only to find... condoms. Lots and lots of condoms. They spilled everywhere across the floor.

Robert roared with laughter. Beric turned as red as Ned, and Oberyn and Mace chuckled, shaking their heads as they helped Thoros gather up his new found bounty.

“So guess the next two!” Beric was practically bouncing up and down. “They’re all part of a theme.”

“Um swim trunks, sunglasses and condoms... are the next gifts a lifeguard chair and a whistle?” Thoros laughed at his friend’s antics.

Mace Tyrell handed Thoros an envelope, somewhat self-importantly.

“See for yourself,” he grinned.

Thoros opened the envelope and shook out a stylized airplane ticket and a picture of a corporate jet.

“It’s the Tyrell Agricultural Conglomerate’s corporate jet,” Mace added unnecessarily.

“Woah,” Thoros stared.

“Look at the ticket!” Beric was still bouncing.

He glanced at the ticket.

_Round Trip, March 2 - March 10, Non-Stop, King’s Landing to Myr, Party of Six._

“Woah,” Thoros repeated slower, his brain fighting fermented goat’s milk to process what he had in his hand.

“Here’s mine,” Robert produced his own envelope.

There was a fancy wrought iron key inside, with a futuristic key card attached. And another photo, this one of the Magister’s Palace Suites.

“Woah,” Thoros said for the third time, thinking he may have lost the capacity to say anything else.

“So pack your presents, we’re doing Spring Break in Myr!” Robert bellowed. The group cheered and Ned let out a wolf whistle.

“Thoros?” Beric nudged him from the right.

“Spring break!” Robert shouted in his ear from the left.

“SPRING BREAK!” Thoros shouted even louder, jumping on them for a giant group hug, which Ned and Mace promptly joined, followed by Oberyn when Ned snagged him by the collar and dragged him in.

It didn’t really sink in until they were all doing another round of celebratory shots. He was going on an all expenses paid senior spring break trip to Myr. Those words didn’t make sense as applied to him. He spent his school vacations sleeping in and drinking on the roof. What had happened? 

“Tormund! Fuck goat horns, how fast can you shotgun a beer?” Robert yelled at Tormund across the room.

Well Robert for starters.

“Faster than you!” Tormund shouted back, and Beric pulled Thoros out of the way before he was trampled by Robert bounding for the bar.

And Beric as a very strong finish.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Thoros told Beric.

“You’re drunk,” Beric said accusingly, but a goofy smile spread across his face.

“Not particularly,” Thoros smirked. “But I’m working on fixing that.” He got a beer for each of them at the bar, getting only mildly drenched by Tormund’s less than skillful shotgun attempt.

“Who are all these people?” He asked Beric.

“Stormlands mostly, but I’m seeing a lot of junior girls,” Beric admitted.

“Robert’s doing eh? Cersei must be so pleased,” Thoros laughed, taking a sip.

“I think she invited half of them, it’s a lot of Westerlands,” Beric shrugged. “And they’re all her year.”

“What are we talking about,” Tormund inserted himself between them. Robert laughed and took the stool next to Beric.

“Women,” Thoros grinned.

“Gotta make use of your condoms,” Tormund nodded sagely. “Say, can I borrow a couple? I’ve had my eye on a pretty girl and I don’t really intend to spend my one night in King’s Landing sleeping on your couch.” He gave a devilish wink.

“Which pretty girl?” Robert started craning his neck.

“The prettiest blonde girl here!” Tormund grinned, taking a long swig of beer.

“I regret to inform you that she’s going home with me,” Robert waved at Cersei who blew him a kiss. 

“Oh, that one has good legs, I’ll give you that. But no meat on her bones! I don’t think she’d survive a night with me. I’d break her in half,” Tormund boasted. “No, I have my eye on the tall one talking to the redhead.”

As one, they all turned to look. Thoros and Robert immediately had to drink to avoid guffawing.

“Brienne Tarth?” Beric managed to sound neutral, but only barely. “She’s rather shy.”

“And big,” Robert added.

“Look out for her right hook,” Thoros advised.

“She sounds perfect!” Tormund beamed. “Don’t tell me about shy, she’s been flirting with me across the room all night.” He toasted her with his glass. Brienne Tarth promptly turned beet red and buried her face in Catelyn Tully’s shoulder. 

While they pondered whether that qualified as flirting, Cersei approached them, sashaying up to Robert.

“Have you been avoiding me, you little minx?” Robert leered, although he did not bother to get down from the bar stool.

“I wouldn’t dream of standing between you and your next drink, lover,” Cersei gave a light laugh. “But now that you have it, I hope I can steal you away. You’ve been ignoring me terribly all night,” she finished with a pout.

“Duty calls,” Robert waggled his eyebrows and followed Cersei back into the kitchen.

“You don’t think they’re going to have sex back there!” Beric exclaimed in disgust. “Shouldn’t you stop them?”

“It could hardly get less sanitary,” Thoros riposted with a shrug.

“I’m surprised HE doesn’t break her in half,” Tormund said, giving a last appreciative look at Cersei’s rear view.

“Something tells me she doesn’t break easy,” Thoros laughed, finishing his beer. “Keep up Tormund, you’re getting slow in your old age!” 

He wasn’t sure whether they finished another round or another two rounds before Robert and Cersei reemerged, looking a little rumpled. Either way his head was spinning slightly, suggesting that he had built up a good buzz. Cersei was picking some lint out of Robert’s hair, and Robert kissed her. Then he leaned over to Tormund and grinned.

“Now don’t say I haven’t shown you any southern hospitality,” Robert said in a loud whisper. Then, in an even louder speaking voice, he shouted, “alright kids! Time for the traditional Baratheon party special!”

“Jungle juice?” Thoros frowned in confusion. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no…”

“Spin the bottle!” Robert whooped.


	33. Stannis (Thoros Turns Eighteen 6 of 10)

Stannis had never pretended to be anything other than who he was. He had been completely honest and upfront with Melisandre about everything from day one, because wasn’t truth what relationships were built on?

Apparently not. Apparently they were built on lies to one’s girlfriend because she couldn’t handle the basic reality of her deadbeat brother.

Stannis didn’t even hate him! He found him mildly irritating, and yes, Davos, he did remind him of Robert in the worst possible way. They both had a casual disrespect for authority that Stannis found nails-on-chalkboard infuriating, they were both inveterate drunks, and they both seemed content to slide along wasting whatever potential they had (a great deal in Robert’s case, probably minimal in Thoros’).

It certainly wasn’t the ease with which Robert immediately adopted Thoros into his life and his friend circle. Ned was worse but then Ned had predated Stannis. There were pictures of baby Ned and baby Robert goggling at each other like diapered soul mates. It had always been that way. Robert hadn’t even known Thoros existed three months ago and now they were going on fucking holiday together!

It definitely wasn’t jealousy at the sibling relationship that Melisandre had with her brother. So what if she had clearly trusted him over Stannis to take on Euron Greyjoy. Stannis only got Robert to declare war on all of Iron Port. Stannis only took on Victarion single handed. And Melisandre had planned Thoros’ birthday and gotten him a far better gift than he deserved. Stannis tried to imagine that existing between him and Robert and failed miserably.

Stannis huffed in exasperation, possibly for the third or fourth time that night.

“If you make that sound one more time, I’m leaving you on the side of the road,” Robert warned from the driver’s seat. Stannis glared across at him.

“Where’s your girlfriend? Don’t tell me I have to come but she gets to stay home.”

“Will you stop whining?!” Robert growled. “Of course Cersei is coming. She’s getting a ride from Tarth.”

Stannis slouched further into his seat.

The remainder of the drive was mercifully brief. Stannis eyed the bar skeptically. It was a dive bar if the dive were in the Mariana Trench. Figured this was where Thoros hung out.

Davos and Melisandre were already there, bickering over how to hang the birthday sign. He shot a small smile at his girlfriend which was snubbed entirely. Stannis ground his teeth. He sulkily placed his bottle of rum next to Davos’, and posted up at a bar stool, watching them hang the sign crooked.

Sandor Clegane oddly showed up next. He contributed his gift to the table (unwrapped—a pair of athletic socks—weird) and took the stool two over from Stannis. He helped himself to a bottle of whiskey.

“Sign’s crooked,” Sandor finally said disinterestedly.

“Very,” Stannis agreed.

People filled in. Cersei did arrive as promised, and immediately ordered Brienne and Sandor to fix the sign. She made a show of showering Robert with kisses and cooing over what a good friend he was, and Stannis slid lower on the stool. Whatever that was, it disturbed him on many levels.

Beric Dondarrion arrived with a giant flame-haired stranger, who Stannis gathered he had picked up at the train station on Melisandre’s orders. The giant ginger jerk hugged Melisandre, and she spoke briefly to Beric who disappeared again. They went through the rigamarole of turning out the lights and hiding. Beric returned with Thoros and everyone shouted ‘Surprise!’. Stannis did not consider himself a strong judge of these things, but it seemed well executed. Robert, of course, immediately opened up the bar and the party passed from the surprise stage to the drinking stage.

“Evening,” Davos slid onto the stool next to him and took a beer.

Stannis grunted. He wasn’t annoyed with Davos, although he harbored a vague sense that Davos was being disloyal by not taking his side.

“It took Robert four frickin years to learn my name,” Davos said finally. Stannis looked over at him. “He treats you like furniture. I think he’s incredibly entitled and wouldn’t be half so cocky if he’d ever had to work for what he’d been given. But no, everything has been handed to him on a silver platter. Do you know what a full scholarship to the Aerie could do for somebody from Flea Bottom? For their family? But no, it goes to Robert Baratheon because he can pound beers all night and somehow get up and run the forty in under five seconds and hit a receiver from fifty yards out. I’m not saying I hate him, but there are times when it makes me sick to be in the same room as him.”

Stannis curled his fists and breathed deeply through his nose to avoid reacting. This was Davos, his best friend. He couldn’t punch Davos.

“Have I made you angry?” Davos asked drily. Stannis shot him a look of disbelief. “Then why do you think you can talk about Melisandre’s brother and not get the exact same reaction? Has it escaped your notice that the two of you are so similar that it’s uncanny?”

Stannis glared at him.

“I haven’t said anything about her brother that Thoros himself wouldn’t agree with. She’s completely overreacting.”

“We’re not all creatures of pure rational thought like you,” Davos smirked. Stannis groaned, deciding that none of this was worth the trouble.

“You should be, the world would be much less confusing. Fine, I’ll apologize to her later when she stops sending me death glares.”

Davos looked across the room and registered Melisandre’s icy stare.

“Maybe have a beer? It could be a while.”

“I’m sticking with water,” Stannis sniffed. He appeared to be the only one. The party was quickly becoming every bit as raucous as Robert’s house parties. He nearly slammed his head on the bar when Robert and Cersei emerged from the back room, Robert’s hair rumpled and shirt buttoned one button off. Please don’t let me become related to Tywin Lannister, Stannis sent a silent prayer.

“Time for the traditional Baratheon party special! Spin the bottle! House rules!” Robert shouted, and then Stannis considered that he really should have been drinking. For Robert, house rules meant that Robert got to spin the bottle. Every time.

Not to suggest that Robert was the one kissing somebody every time. Oh no. Robert spun the bottle for you, and you could either take a shot or kiss the person the bottle had selected. Then Robert spun the bottle for them, and on and on it went. Stannis was not sure whether it was common knowledge that Robert had complete control over where the bottle landed. He had spent a summer in middle school mastering this art to allow him to make out with high school girls. What Stannis knew is that Robert’s friends always got good spins and his enemies always got bad. Stannis wasn’t sure where he was in Robert’s mental rolodex at the moment.

He slid off the stool and edged towards the men’s room, hoping to take refuge there.

“Princess! Melisandre, get over here!” Robert boomed. Fight or no fight, Melisandre shot Stannis an expression of mute horror. Stannis gritted his teeth and walked back to the table where the group was forming. The things he did for love.

The circle was large, an approximately even number of men and women. Robert quickly rushed through the rules, his alcohol addled explanation proving impossible for any newcomers to follow.

“It’s easier to see how it’s played by playing,” Robert announced. “I’ll go first.”

He spun and it pointed to Cersei. With a lecherous grin, he walked around to Cersei’s spot, pulled her aside and kissed her deeply. The catcalls started about the time Cersei’s leg curled around his waist, and with a groan of disappointment, Robert set her back down.

“Now it’s Cersei’s turn,” he said somewhat breathlessly. He spun the bottle. It landed on Ellaria Sand. Cersei shot a look at Robert. Stannis put her in the category of people who knew the game was rigged. Still, she flounced over to a smirking Ellaria and the two gave a smoldering performance.

“This is some game,” the ginger giant said next to him, and Stannis swallowed.

Ellaria got Oberyn, and they kept at it until Robert threatened to dump a glass of water on them. Ellaria pouted as she got off the table Oberyn had placed her on and rejoined the circle. Oberyn spun Mace Tyrell, and elected to take a shot, much to Mace’s relief.

Mace spun Dondarrion and took a shot. Stannis thought that Robert probably needed to get over Mace being friends with Rhaegar last year at some point, but today was clearly not that day.

Dondarrion spun Catelyn Tully. He kissed her on the cheek and the circle booed cheerfully. Catelyn spun Ned, and in the first serious shock of the night, elected to take a shot instead of kiss him. Ned flinched as if he had been slapped.

Ned then spun Ashara Dayne. Of course Robert would give Ned the best possible spins, Stannis thought acidly. Ned shot an indecipherable look at Catelyn and gave Ashara a kiss. Ashara’s bottle then landed on the ginger. Tormund, they were calling him. She eyed him up and down and grinned, before crawling across the table to kiss him. Stannis flinched uncomfortably. They were nearly on top of him.

As Ashara returned to her seat, Tormund leaned forward eagerly. Robert gave the bottle an expert flick and it stopped at Brienne Tarth. Stannis blinked in surprise. He wasn’t sure what the stranger had done to offend his brother. More oddly still, the stranger didn’t look put out in the slightest.

He walked over to where Brienne was furiously blushing. He said something to her, and with an expression of resignation, she nodded, leaning forward for a peck. It was not a peck. One hand on the side of her face, he gave her a long deep kiss that had the circle applauding. More than one girl gave a sigh when it ended as if they wouldn’t have minded switching places with Brienne. Stannis was relieved that Melisandre, amused and aloof, was not among them.

The stranger and Brienne were still talking, seeming disinclined to return to the circle. Stannis noticed that Catelyn had also left at some point without him noticing.

Robert elected a new tribute, and the game continued, zigzagging back and forth between participants. It was heavy on girl on girl matches, as was Robert’s wont, but all in all a fairly uneventful round. Elia Martell spun Thoros, and surprised them all by kissing him instead of taking a shot. Thoros was already taking a shot for the next round before Robert touched the bottle, clearly impatient at the lack of drinking. Robert shrugged and spun it anyway, landing it on Melisandre. Stannis stiffened. Melisandre was supposed to kiss whomever Robert spun next.

The next spin felt like an eternity. Finally it slowed, stopping at him. He glanced at Robert and was given a little eye roll, as if to chide him for his mistrust.

Melisandre looked at him, and then quirked her brow defiantly. She took a shot.

Of all the stubborn women in this world, why did he have to fall for this one?!

Robert gave a grunt of annoyance and spun the bottle for Stannis. It stopped at Melisandre. Melisandre looked at him, clearly expecting him to walk over and whisper some apology before making the first move. It was what Davos would have told him do. He gave Melisandre a mischievous smile and took a shot, savoring the stunned expression on her face.

He looked at Robert and nodded imperceptibly back to Melisandre. Robert smirked and spun the bottle for his girlfriend. It landed back on Stannis. Gritting her teeth, Melisandre took a second shot. Stannis wanted to laugh. There was no way she was going to win this. Another person would have quit the game or just given in. Not Melisandre.

The bottle stopped at him. He took a second shot. The circle was laughing now at the preposterous stand off. Who would kiss who, it was an absurd hill to die on.

Melisandre took a third shot, nearly gagging. Robert shook his head and spun. Stannis’ turn to drink. He toasted her and was rewarded by the faintest twitch of a smile behind her haughty mask.

The bottle stopped at Melisandre. She poured the fourth shot and hesitated, lifting it slowly. She placed it to her lips. The circle held their breath. She tipped it back and drained it in one smooth motion. Everyone groaned.

The door to the bar slammed open, the noise abruptly cutting in through the chatter of the game. Stannis looked over in intoxicated confusion.

Jaime Lannister stood there. Why did he show up every time Stannis drank alcohol? It was very odd. At least this time, Jaime didn’t seem to be interested in talking. He scanned the crowd and then focused in on a corner. He strode right down the middle of the room, through the circle, over to Brienne and Tormund. They were still talking, but looked up as Jaime approached. Just as well, because Jaime promptly punched Tormund in the face.

As if the entire bar were waiting for a cue to go completely berserk, pandemonium ensued. Another eight people launched themselves into the fight, a girl screamed, there was the sound of breaking glass. And there at the center, completely unphased, was Melisandre. The chaos whipped around her and she only looked at him and smirked. Then slowly and deliberately got up. She got to the abandoned bottle, picked it up and smashed it on the ground. Then she got to him.

“I broke the wheel,” she smiled.

“What?” Stannis asked confused. He realized she was probably drunker than he was, and he felt quite tipsy.

“Never mind,” Melisandre said with some scorn, as if he were missing a completely obvious point. “Come here,” she pulled him down and kissed him. There they stood, in the eye of the storm, and there was nothing that could touch them.


	34. Brienne (Thoros Turns Eighteen 7 of 10)

The car ride to Hollow Hill was somewhat surreal. To have Cersei Lannister of all people chatting with her like they were the best of friends. What teachers did she have? Oh, at least she didn’t have Pycelle for history. Everyone knew he was terribly boring, but did Brienne know he was a complete lech? He had put his hand on Cersei’s knee once, and he was lucky he still had his job. And his hand. But Cersei planned to take the AP tests for world history and Westerosi history, and she wasn’t letting Pycelle stand in the way of that.

It wasn’t until Brienne had parked the car that she had the courage to say what she had been wondering.

“Do you think it worked? With Jaime, I mean? He didn’t seem very put out that we were going without him,” Brienne said hesitantly. Cersei placed a perfectly manicured hand on her arm.

“Of course it worked. He’s being stubborn that’s all. I’ll text him right now and tell him to get over himself,” she pulled out her phone and typed on it for a moment.

“I’m sure he’s coming,” she said, and Brienne didn’t know which one of them Cersei was convincing.

Most people were here already. There was an enormous ‘Happy Birthday’ sign hanging from the rafters that Brienne thought was quite nice.

“Ugh, those cretins have hung it completely wrong,” Cersei froze, looking at the same sign. “Brienne, can you get the left side a smidge higher? I’ll talk to Sandor about lowering the right side, he’ll be happy to help.”

It honestly took Brienne a moment to process that Cersei meant Sandor Clegane. She’d never heard anyone call him Sandor. She also couldn’t imagine that he would be happy to do anything, let alone help with party decorations. But sure enough, Cersei returned with Sandor Clegane in tow, looking a bit like a small child towing a grumpy parent. Westerlands, Brienne shrugged. It was amazing that the Lannister charm even worked on Cleganes.

They spent at least ten minutes fiddling with the sign—long enough that Clegane was showing signs of just ripping it up in frustration, and even Brienne had to keep reminding herself that Cersei had been nothing but kind to her. Finally it was good enough. Cersei had been frowning at her phone, the dark expression turning her lovely features rather less lovely.

“No Jaime?” Brienne asked. Cersei looked up, feline green eyes appraising. 

“Oh he’ll be here,” Cersei said lightly, and for some reason, Brienne felt herself shiver. Fortunately they were interrupted by Melisandre Asshai, announcing that her brother was five minutes away. Everybody scrambled for a good jumping-out place, and somebody turned out the lights. Brienne found herself crouching next to Catelyn Tully and a skinny brown-haired boy. She gave them both a friendly smile. Catelyn smiled back, the boy sneered.

There was the sound of the door opening and then the lights were on.

“SURPRISE!” Brienne joined in the jubilant shout, and even though she didn’t know him very well, it made her happy that Thoros Asshai looked completely blown away.

Brienne had never had a birthday party. She’d never had enough friends to invite. Her father usually took her out to a fancy dinner instead, and the last couple of years Renly had tagged along too. Her birthday was in January. She had toyed with the idea of asking Jaime to come this year as well, but that was obviously dead in the water.

“You look nice, Brienne,” Catelyn approached shyly. “I like what you’ve done with your hair.”

Brienne smiled back at her. 

“You look gorgeous,” she blurted. It was true. Catelyn’s thick dark red hair was tied back in a loose braid that framed her face and her porcelain blue eyes. Next to her delicate frame, Brienne felt especially oafish and large.

“Not compared to her,” Catelyn nodded her head across the room glumly. Brienne cautiously turned. She immediately saw who Catelyn meant.

An exotic dark haired girl was laughing with Oberyn and Ellaria. She had olive skin and enormous violet eyes. Next to her, even Cersei appeared merely pretty. As Brienne stared, she made accidental eye contact with a tall red-headed boy talking to the girl. He locked eyes with her and winked. Brienne flinched and quickly refocused on the girl.

“Is that Ned’s date?” Brienne asked with a gulp. She hoped nobody else had seen that wink. Who was that guy?

“Ashara Dayne,” Catelyn sighed. “I know Cersei was right about not staying home because of a boy, but just look at her Brienne. How can I compete with that? And asking Petyr has been a disaster, he’s been so clingy and my sister Lysa isn’t even talking to me.”

Just then, as if on cue, the boy from before—Petyr—reappeared with a drink in hand and a glass for Catelyn. 

“Petyr, can you get something for Brienne as well?” Catelyn asked.

“Oh not me, I’m driving home,” Brienne begged off with a laugh.

“Some cranberry juice then?” Catelyn insisted to Petyr firmly. Petyr looked annoyed and stalked off.

“I’m sorry, I just need a bit of a breather from him,” Catelyn admitted. “He’s been driving me mad.”

“Erm do you know who Ashara is talking to?” Brienne inquired. Catelyn immediately and obviously turned, scanning the room.

“Huh, no idea,” she admitted. “Must be a friend of Thoros’ from Essos?”

“He doesn’t look like he’s from Essos,” Brienne glanced over his shoulder to find him still looking at her. 

“You’re right,” Catelyn agreed amiably. “He’s cute though. And he’s definitely checking you out.”

“He is not!” Brienne hissed, mortified at the very though. Men didn’t check her out. They stared at her.

“Who’s checking you out?” Cersei suddenly purred from right behind them. Seven hells, how did the woman do that?!

“Nobody!” Brienne insisted. 

“The tall red head that nobody knows,” Catelyn offered.

“Sure seems like Robert knows him,” Cersei tilted her head, looking in the wrong direction. Brienne frowned, about to say that she was staring at the wrong guy, when she saw that the redhead had joined Robert and Thoros at the bar.

“I think you’re right,” Cersei nodded. “You need to go for this.”

Brienne groaned as the man raised his glass at them and hid her face in Catelyn’s shoulder.

“I can’t,” she mumbled. “I wouldn’t know what to say.”

“Leave everything to me,” Cersei grinned wickedly. She walked to the bar, and for a terrible minute Brienne thought she was going to talk to the stranger. Instead, she whispered something to Robert and the two of them disappeared together.

“…Did she just blow us off to have sex with Robert Baratheon in the kitchen?” Catelyn raised her eyebrow. Brienne shrugged. That was definitely better than the alternative of returning with that giant bearded fellow. The one currently leering at her. 

“Your cranberry juice,” Petyr reappeared, thrusting the drink at her like it was a dead rat. Brienne took it. This was how men treated her. Not whatever that tall fellow was doing.

“Petyr, you’re always so good with gossip,” Catelyn favored him with a small smile. Petyr ruffled his feathers with pride. That was what he reminded Brienne of, she realized. A small and rather feisty bird. “Who is that tall gentleman with the red hair and the beard that’s been ogling Brienne all night?”

“His name is Tormund Giantsbane and he lives in Hardhome. He’s a friend of Thoros Asshai from Ibben, which I guess makes him a Red.” Petyr shrugged. “He took the train down today and is only staying for a night. Beric Dondarrion picked him up from the station and brought him here.”

“That’s very helpful Petyr, thank you,” Catelyn said sweetly. Petyr’s new found confidence further bolstered, he began telling them an anecdote he’d overheard Tormund tell of how he’d seduced a bear. Brienne felt her face heat up still further. This Tormund offended ever propriety she had. What would Renly say?! 

Renly would tell her to walk over there and snog him, a small traitorous voice whispered in the back of her head. It’s not like you’ll have many other opportunities. And he is rather… burly.

Robert and Cersei had reemerged, Cersei looking oddly triumphant. Robert banged a glass for attention.

“Time for the traditional Baratheon party special! Spin the bottle! House rules!” He shouted, pointing at various people. 

Brienne and Catelyn exchange a look and started running for the ladies’ room.

“Tarth! Tully!” Robert bellowed. “Get back over here!”

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Catelyn whispered. “At least he didn’t ask Petyr to play.”

Once Robert was done rounding up various recalcitrant participants, he began a garbled explanation that Brienne didn’t follow at all. Still, she was familiar with the concept of spin the bottle. She did watch television after all.

Robert got lucky with his spin, landing on his girlfriend. Brienne quickly averted her eyes at their raunchy display, only to meet Tormund’s smirk. She inwardly groaned and turned to focus on Ned Stark, who was sitting directly across from her. He looked utterly depressed. She wondered if he knew how much he had hurt Catelyn’s feelings. Certainly he did not seem particularly chummy with Ashara Dayne.

Poor Cersei spun Ellaria. Ellaria was luckier getting her boyfriend. Or whatever Oberyn was to her. Another streak of bad luck ensued, finally broken when Beric spun Catelyn. Privately, she thought Catelyn rather lucky. Beric was very sweet even if his eyepatch and the scar around his neck were a little distracting. Beric further proved his chivalry in Brienne’s book when he only gave Catelyn the merest brush of a kiss on her cheekbone. Catelyn seemed to agree with Brienne’s assessment, because she smiled at him, even as the crowd booed their restraint.

Then disaster struck. Catelyn spun Ned. What were the odds?! Brienne felt a surge of pity for a girl she had started to think of as a potential friend. Catelyn handled it with dignity of course, simply pouring a shot and drinking without ever looking across the circle. Ned had gone pale, and not even his kiss with Ashara changed the expression of abject misery on his face. Ashara’s bottle landed on Tormund, and something about the way she crawled provocatively across the table raised Brienne’s hackles. It was only out of loyalty to Catelyn of course. But seriously! Not even Ellaria or Cersei had crawled ON the table. 

Then Tormund spun. Brienne was not exactly sure why, but found she was holding her breath. The bottle slowly rolled to a halt. It was stopped directly at her.

Brienne swallowed nervously, suddenly aware of the entire circle’s eyes on her. She hated being the center of attention. She could already feel the heat rising to her cheeks. 

You’ve never been kissed, that traitorous little voice whispered. What’s the harm in a little fun?

Brienne turned to get away from the gazes, only to come face to face with Tormund. He was taller than her. A rare feat. And he had brilliant orange-red hair and a thick beard. He looked utterly unlike the high school boys she knew.

“Shall we?” He gave her a conspiratorial nudge. Do it, the voice chanted. Brienne did it. She nodded and leaned forward slightly, closing her eyes. Immediately a rough hand cupped her face and warm lips met her own. It was gentle and quite nice actually. She liked how the callouses on his palm felt against her cheek, how his tongue playfully swept her own, how a sudden surge of warmth pooled in her lower abdomen. He pushed a little deeper, and Brienne could feel her breasts pressed against his chest, how the muscles in his arm rippled. It was becoming rather overwhelming and she broke the kiss. He stepped back immediately, smiling at her.

“I’m Tormund,” he said.

“I’m Brienne,” she replied, trying to catch her breath. Her first kiss. Her first kiss with a complete stranger named Tormund. And it had been wonderful. Renly would be furious that she had kissed a boy before him.

“Can I get you another cranberry juice?” Tormund looked at her empty glass. Brienne glanced over her shoulder, but the game seemed to have continued without them.

“That would be nice,” she said timidly.

Tormund had a loud laugh and made uncouth jokes. He was hearty and plain spoken and punched her shoulder several times. He had a habit of staring at her as if he would rather like to eat her up. He was utterly unlike any man she had ever been interested in. It was deeply uncomfortable and a little exciting. Brienne was trying to think how to extract herself from this situation without hurting Tormund’s feelings when the door slammed.

Jaime stood in the entranceway and he looked furious. Brienne only had time to think that Cersei had been right after all, only had time to feel briefly and absurdly pleased, before she felt his green eyes land on her and narrow. He was pushing towards her, scattering everyone in his wake, and Brienne still wasn’t sure why he seemed so upset. She opened her mouth to ask if he was okay, when suddenly his fist had slammed into Tormund’s face and all hell broke loose. With a roar, Tormund punched him back, and then the two were having at it. Robert and Ned pushed in to separate them, only to get some less than friendly fire from Jaime as well. An irate Robert hit back, and then the four of them were in a one-sided dog pile.

“This is ridiculous,” Sandor Clegane snarled under his breath as he waded into the fray to help Jaime. “Leave it to a Lannister to ruin a perfectly good night.”

The tide briefly seemed to turn for the Westerlanders before several more Stormlanders piled on. They knocked into a table and glasses went flying. Somewhere there was the sound of a bottle breaking. 

Brienne sighed and went to the ladies restroom. Catelyn Tully was sitting on the counter.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Catelyn said drily.

“What’s your excuse?”

“Hiding from Petyr. Yours?”

“Hiding from men,” Brienne sighed. “Did you see that Jaime showed up?”

“Everybody saw that Jaime showed up,” Catelyn looked at her with a trace of amusement. She still seemed sad.

“I don’t think Ned came with Ashara,” Brienne said finally. 

“I don’t think he did either,” Catelyn admitted. “I mean, I think he did, but I don’t think they’re together. It doesn’t change the fact that he needs to ask me out or I need to move on.” 

Brienne nodded.

“I feel so stuck. Like if he hasn’t asked me out by now, he probably won’t ever. But I still keep hoping that if I hang around long enough, something will change. I just feel on the hook, you know?”

Oh Brienne knew. Knew how her heart had skipped a beat when Jaime had showed up tonight, even though he had spent the last few weeks being an ass. Knew that he had never given her any reason to hope for more or expect more. But she had still wanted to hug him and ask him what was wrong. It wasn’t just stupid, it was self-destructive, what she felt for him.

Brienne ran some cold water over her wrists. That was how you treated heat stroke, why not love? What was love but an over-abundance of heat. The cold water did help clear her brain some.

“Look, I think I’m going home,” Brienne said. “Do you want me to drive you?”

Catelyn looked up immediately.

“Please,” she said. The two walked out of the restroom and straight out of the bar into the night. It was past midnight, Brienne realized with some surprise. 

“That’s me over there,” she pointed to her beat up sedan. Catelyn was in the process of getting in to the passenger seat, and Brienne was walking around the car when she heard the shout.

“WAIT!” 

She glanced up. Jaime was standing in the door, completely disheveled, nose bloody. He covered the distance between them in a moment.

“Brienne, what the fuck?! What were you thinking?!”

“Excuse me?” Brienne pulled away from him. He wasn’t even drunk, what was he going on about.

“Kissing that guy! That total rando! That was really stupid Brienne, that was dangerous! He could have been a serial killer for fuck’s sake.”

“How do you even know about that,” Brienne blurted. Jaime waved his cell phone under her nose and she saw the picture. Her. Tormund. Locked in a kiss.

“It wasn’t like that,” she shoved the phone away from her. “And even if it was, you don’t have any business getting involved in my life.”

“Well somebody has to, since you’re clearly doing such a bang up job,” Jaime spat. “Look, I’m your friend, I’m trying to look out for you.”

“YOU’RE NOT MY FRIEND!” Brienne yelled, and that was finally enough to shut him up. “You’ve barely spoken to me in two weeks. Friends don’t treat friends like you’ve been treating me. I’ve tried to reach out, I’ve tried to be understanding, but I’m done. Just stay away from me, Lannister.”

She got in the car and slammed the door, getting into drive almost immediately. She pulled out, but Jaime was still standing where she had left him, blocking the path out of the parking lot.

There was a long tense moment as she glared at him, wondering if he was going to move. Finally, his shoulders slumped and he stepped aside. 

Brienne accelerated out onto the main road, leaving the bar behind, leaving Jamie Lannister behind, somewhere back there in the darkness.


	35. Beric (Thoros Turns Eighteen 8 of 10)

Beric thought he was drunk. He knew he was angry. It was probably because he was drunk, some feeble mind part of his mind tried to rationalize.

Everything had been going great. More than great, it had been perfect. Thoros had loved the party, even if it had been mostly Robert’s friends. Robert’s friends and Mace Tyrell, Robert would have added spitefully. But he was the only senior with access to a plane, and Beric knew he’d be willing to wheedle a flight to Myr out of his mother in exchange for a return to the inner circle. And Beric had been right. About Mace, about the complete success that had been the birthday present.

Beric had been reasonably sure that nothing could ruin his mood. They had been having a lot to drink. There was that awful goat’s milk that had been insanely strong, then a shot of pure rum, then three rounds of beer interspersed with more rum from Thoros’ flask. Beric thought he never needed rum again. He knew he never needed fermented goat’s milk again.

Then Robert had stumbled out of the back kitchen with his fly undone and announced that they were going to play spin the bottle. Beric was not sure what dark star had been guiding Elia Martell’s bottle when it stopped on Thoros. Elia Martell who Thoros always joked about trying to sleep with. Elia Martell who was the shyest sweetest girl in school, a girl that nobody had ever resented in her life. Beric resented her. Resented her deeply.

He hadn’t resented her at all until the moment the bottle stopped and Elia had stood instead of reaching for the shot glass. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Elia was reserved and demure and once in middle school had cried when the class turtle had died. She liked Rhaegar Targaryen. Had never liked anyone but Rhaegar Targaryen. And he was reserved and sensitive and soft spoken just like her. The idea of her liking Thoros—even just finding Thoros attractive—was unthinkable.

But Elia Martell had done the unthinkable. She had walked around the table and planted a light kiss right on Thoros’ lips. Worse Thoros had blushed. Because he did find her attractive, had never made any great secret of it. Because Thoros, the object of Beric’s all-consuming crush, liked women. Beric dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands and tried to remain absolutely motionless.

What had he expected? Honestly?

The game played on around him, but Beric’s entire existence had telescoped inwards into this one pinprick of time. What was wrong with him? Of all the stupid, hopeless, pointless experiences to put himself through.

It wasn’t until an entire table overturned that Beric realized the game had broken up and a fight had broken out. Glasses went flying, but Beric couldn’t find the energy to move.

“Oh for the Father’s sake,” Oberyn Martell dragged him out of the danger zone.

He stared at Oberyn. Funny how he looked so much like his sister. Beric had never noticed it because Elia was so shy and Oberyn flirted with everything that moved. But now Beric could see the resemblance very clearly.

“You need to ask your friend out,” Oberyn said bluntly.

“What?!” Beric stammered.

“Your friend, Thoros. I’m tired of watching the two of you mope around after each other. So much sexual tension it puts ME on edge! Stop glaring at my sister, suck it up and ask him out.”

Beric blushed, glancing around to make sure they hadn’t been overheard. He needn’t have worried. The bar was a complete zoo. Despite being very far into the closet, Beric had made the mistake of going to a gay bar one night last year. Okay, several nights last year. Before his accident. So what, he had been single and lonely and everyone had wanted to buy the cute high schooler drinks and reassure him that it gets better. It’s not like it had ever gone beyond a kiss or two. He had seen Oberyn a couple of times. They weren’t friends, so he hadn’t felt the need to actually speak to him. Just a sort of nod, a casual acknowledgment that Beric would keep his secret if Oberyn kept Beric’s.

“Did you see him kiss Elia?! I can’t see that going over very well,” Beric huffed.

“I saw my sister kiss him,” Oberyn replied pointedly. “And I saw him immediately take a shot of vodka. Didn’t seem like he enjoyed the experience that much.”

Beric paused and replayed the scene in his head, as he had approximately a thousand times since it happened.

“I suppose that also occurred,” Beric conceded grudgingly.

“Look, Elia’s seen Robert start trying to get over Lyanna and it’s left her thinking that maybe she should be doing some of that herself. It’s perfectly natural and healthy, and I don’t want you coming after her because you’re too scared to ask your friend out,” Oberyn shook his finger in Beric’s face. His tone was still lightly mocking but his eyes looked deadly serious. Beric gulped.

“Any tips?” He asked.

“Yes,” Oberyn smirked. “Get very drunk.”

Beric wasn’t sure that he wasn’t already there, but he dutifully took a shot with Oberyn and then another shot for luck.

He found Thoros with Robert, trying to teach Tormund how to shotgun a beer.

“Make the incision like this,” Thoros was saying, but he kept dropping his keys and then laughing too hard at the keys to hold them steady enough to cut the can.

“Maybe it’s time to get you home,” Beric offered. Thoros grinned at him. “One for the road?” Oh why not. They both sat at the bar and watched Robert and Tormund making a mess as they raced again.

“This is the perfect party,” Thoros said blissfully.

“Clegane just broke a pool cue across that guy’s back,” Beric pointed.

“Right?!” Thoros beamed, as if this were corroborating proof of his prior assertion.

“I think Ned Stark and Ashara Dayne are fighting,” Beric observed.

“Well she was Tormund’s second choice after Tarth, so I guess he has a shot,” Thoros shrugged.

“Your sister just dragged Stannis into the kitchen,” Beric watched their departure.

“It worked for Robert.”

Beric finished his glass.

“C’mon, let’s get home before the party turns. Or worse, we’re stuck with clean up.”

At that Thoros shuddered and drained his own glass.

They walked out of the bar.

“I think, maybe we should walk home?” Beric scrunched his face. “I don’t know if I’m good to drive.”

“I think that’s a safe bet,” Thoros wrapped an arm around Beric. “It’s only a couple of blocks.”

“Have you ever noticed,” Beric said dazedly as they staggered down the sidewalk. “How one of us is always having to get the other home?”

“Hmm?”

“Like I’m drunk, or you have a concussion—“

“Or we’re both drunk,” Thoros let out a hiccup.

“—or we’re both drunk. It’s nice.”

“What’s nice?”

“That we can count on each other to get us home.”

There was a pause while Thoros digested this thought. Or maybe he just zoned out for a minute.

“That is nice,” he said finally, as they got to the door of his apartment building. He pulled out his keys and promptly dropped them. He giggled.

“But I have to say,” he bent down, picked them up and then managed to drop them again. This time Beric also reached down, putting Thoros off balance and causing him to fall on his side. “I have to say,” Thoros continued from the ground, “it works much better when only one of us is incapacitated.”

“I think we’re doing great,” Beric said defiantly, managing to get the key into the lock. He swung the door open, only to smack Thoros in the face.

“Ow,” Thoros giggled again from the ground. Beric looked at him sheepishly.

“Are you okay?” He pulled him up and kissed the top of his friend’s head. “Let’s get upstairs.”

“Of course I’m okay,” Thoros yawned, beginning the trek up. “I don’t think you’re capable of hurting me.”

“You always think I’m such a nice guy,” Beric pouted. “I can be a dick too you know!”

“Oh yeah?” Thoros scoffed. “Like when? Did you only tip ten percent once?”

“No! Like real stuff.”

“Like what?” Thoros prodded.

“Like tonight!”

“What about tonight? Tonight was perfect,” Thoros had reached the door of his apartment, and began searching for his keys. Beric watched him for a while before remembering that he was holding them.

“Tonight wasn’t perfect,” Beric remembered Elia and scowled. He opened the door. Thoros walked straight back to his bedroom, shedding clothes as he went. Beric followed, carefully picking up the garments and then putting them in the hamper.

“What happened?” Thoros stopped, halfway through his bedroom to the bathroom.

“During spin the bottle, Elia Martell kissed you,” Beric bit his lip.

“Oh, yeah.” Thoros looked at the carpet. Beric had been expecting him to make a lewd comment but he didn’t.

“What does this have to do with you being a dick?” Thoros looked back up. He was standing just in his boxers, and Beric was still fully dressed. It reminded him of the night Thoros had had a concussion.

“I was mad at Elia,” Beric admitted. “That she kissed you. It’s stupid. It wasn’t even a good kiss.”

Thoros had a faint smile now, eyes bright with alcohol and something else.

“I thought it was a pretty good kiss,” he said nonchalantly.

“Psh, that wasn’t a good kiss,” Beric reiterated stubbornly. “If you think that’s a good kiss then you haven’t had one yet.”

“Oh yeah?” Thoros raised an eyebrow. “How’s a good kiss supposed to go.”

Beric opened his mouth and then closed it. He could hear Oberyn hissing in his ear to tell him, but confronted with the reality of Thoros standing almost naked before him, he knew he couldn’t. It was just so frustrating! Frustrating and stupid and...

“Oh like this,” Beric closed the distance between them, grabbed Thoros firmly by the shoulders and kissed him hard.


	36. Cersei (Thoros Turns Eighteen 9 of 10)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! It's been a while! This AN is to warn people that we're officially in sex-and-sex-adjacent-acts territory. I think the line between the 'M' and 'E' rating is a little murky--for Light the Way, sexual content is never going to be more than 2% of the plot, and I think my descriptions are pretty circumspect. I don't really want to bump the rating up to E, but I'd rather do that than put spoilers in the chapter notes. SO, if at any point, anybody feels uncomfortable with the rating, just drop me a comment and I'll adjust! Thank you all so much for the comments and apologies in advance for the blatant Cruel Intentions shout-out :)

The only problem with being the evil genius pulling the puppet strings, Cersei reflected, is that nobody will ever know it was you. 

The latest master plan had begun five days earlier in the secret restroom on the second floor of the library where she sometimes went when she needed a boost.

She needed a boost because Robert had informed her (in full compliance of their three day notice period requirement) that he was throwing a party on Friday and expected her to attend. It sounded like a dreadfully dull affair in one of the worst bars that Cersei was familiar with. When she had suggested the arm candy to events provision of the contract, she had expected it would be more to her benefit than to Robert’s. Her father was always making her go to charity balls and young donor events. Good press for the company, he claimed.

She certainly hadn’t intended the clause to be used for binge drinking in rat infested sewer bars like Hollow Hill, an activity that Robert was demonstrably capable of doing stag. 

When she pointed this out, he smirked and squeezed her knee just a little too tightly. And said if she wanted to renegotiate, he could think of some changes he would make as well. 

This was the fundamental fly in the ointment with their arrangement. Robert was highly satisfactory as a lackey in all respects except for mindless obedience. There was just a spark of kindred ruthlessness in him—no comparison to her of course, and realistically that’s why this plan worked at all, but when she pushed there was always a push back. A spark of something cold and nasty in him that saw the inferno blazing within her and rather liked it. 

So she smiled sweetly, said she would be at the party, and went straight to her hideaway.

Once ensconced in a middle stall, she carefully unscrewed the top of the jeweled seven pointed star she wore around her neck and poured herself a line. Just one—she just needed a little jolt to power through the rest of the day.

Robert’s mean streak could be harnessed. After all, he was like her but lesser. Weakened by sentimental loyalties and a bedrock of basic amiability. The real danger came from those strange bubbles of rage that occasionally manifested. Cersei was a creature of cold calculation. She could neither empathize with nor control those weird fits of self-destructive fury, but they got worse when he drank and what was this but an evening of prolonged drinking.

Well, even if he did blow, there was no reason that she would be in the crossfires. She would get through this, she thought as she inhaled the powder and it sent a tingle of energy through her brain and down her spine.

Then, as she was carefully rescrewing her necklace, she heard the heavy tread of someone entering. Her legs lifted automatically to escape detection. The girl was crying and stomped into the final stall. Amateur, Cersei thought. The final stall is always the first one people gravitate toward. It had been years since she cried on the school grounds, but she had learned young.

Then the door had slammed open again, and Cersei began to feel that she was trapped in a farce. Another crier, this one without the decency to even choose a stall.

Then the first crier came out to offer consolation, and that was where things began to get interesting.

Brienne Tarth and Catelyn Tully.

That strange plain girl that had stolen her brother’s heart. Taken him away from her. She took a certain selfish satisfaction from discovering that Jaime had bungled things per usual. Still, if she had to go to this dreadful party, it behooved her to make sure Jaime was there. Her interests and Tarth’s interests were at this instance temporarily aligned.

Catelyn Tully on the other hand... she wasn’t sure what could be gained by reuniting Catelyn with Ned Stark. She happened to know that Robert had asked Ned to invite Ashara Dayne because Ashara Dayne liked casual sex and redheads in that order and Robert was trying to create a “target-rich environment” (his words) for his buddy Thoros on his birthday. 

Personally, Cersei thought some braces would help Thoros Asshai more than that slut Ashara Dayne would.

But why share that information with Catelyn? Not when it would be so easy to dangle a single and heartbroken Catelyn Tully in front of little Petyr Baelish like bait. Petyr was almost as useful as Varys and Cersei preferred a grateful Petyr to a grateful Catelyn.

So she quickly texted Petyr, asking if he would like to go to Friday’s party (a party to which neither he nor Varys had been invited) with Catelyn Tully. The response came back just as fast.

_What do I have to do?_

_Owe me._ Cersei tapped out and smiled.

_Done._

That was when Cersei decided to make her grand entrance. It was child’s play to convince Catelyn to ask Petyr to accompany her. And even easier to convince Brienne to show up at her house, where she could parade her under Jaime’s nose.

Jaime reacted exactly as she knew he would. She had always known what buttons to push, what strings to pull to get him dancing to her tune. When she started touching Brienne’s hair, he nearly developed a twitch.

But maybe she was rusty or maybe Jaime was wising up. He not only refused to come to the party, he essentially told her to fuck off. If there was one thing that she could not stand, it was being ignored. Forgotten. Jaime needed to be taught a lesson.

She was almost incandescent in her rage at Jaime’s text when she saw Brienne and Catelyn talking across the room. Brienne. She was the key to all this somehow. Cersei was having loose thoughts of provoking her into a fight with Clegane when she overheard their conversation.

It took one incredulous glance to confirm that Catelyn was absolutely right. This red headed stranger was totally checking Brienne out. All Brienne needed was a hard push in the right direction.

And Cersei could give it. But first, a little insurance that this would all get back to Jaime.

She found Petyr Baelish sulking by the bar.

“I’m cashing in my favor,” she murmured and then laughed as if he were telling a delightful and amusing joke.

“Already?” Petyr smiled and replied out of the side of his mouth. “It had better be small, I’m getting nowhere with Catelyn.”

“I didn’t promise you would get anywhere except this bar with her,” Cersei admonished him, pouring herself a dirty martini. “I want you to take a picture of Brienne Tarth when she kisses Tormund, and I want you to send it to Varys for his blog.”

“First, what makes you think he’ll post it? She’s hardly newsworthy. Second, what makes you think they’ll kiss? Third, why on earth would I do anything for Varys?!” He spat the name like it was a bad word.

“First, he wasn’t invited to this party. Posting the photo will make him look like he was. It will increase his social capital. Second, I have plans in motion. Third,” Cersei popped an olive into her mouth. “You’ll do it because I fucking told you to. Let Varys thinks he owes you if you must, but DO IT.”

She didn’t bother to see if the message sunk in or not, knowing that it had. Instead, she sauntered over to Robert, who was already flouting their contract by drinking far too much.

“Have you been avoiding me, you little minx?” Robert asked lecherously. Cersei personally thought he was laying it on a bit thick, but she was also annoyed with him.

“I wouldn’t dream of standing between you and your next drink, lover,” she bit out. Read: if you want me to come to your damn party, stop acting like a drunken sot.

“But now that you have it, I hope I can steal you away,” she added in a flirty voice. Read: now get up and follow me. Robert made some gross joke to his gross friends but he followed.

She dragged him into what she assumed would be a back office of some sort but turned out to be the kitchen.

“I believe our deal was you would NOT get disgustingly drunk at parties?” She snapped, her voice low.

“I’m barely tipsy,” Robert rolled his eyes. “It’s not like you’ve been girlfriend of the year out there.” 

“I showed up didn’t I?” Cersei huffed. Then she realized this was the wrong tact. 

“Look, I didn’t come to scold you about your drinking,” she cooed, playing with the buttons on his shirt.

“Uh huh,” Robert said skeptically, but she heard his breath hitch all the same as she drew a finger  lazily across his chest. 

“You really are a good friend,” she said both slyly and truthfully. “Seems to me like we have an opportunity to help some friends out.”

“What do you mean?” Robert asked, trying to ignore the fingers that were now raking through his hair. 

“What I mean,” she said, her breath hot as she pressed her lips against the shell of his ear. “Is that your friend Tormund has been staring at Brienne Tarth all night. I was thinking we could play a game. A game,” her hand teasingly dropped to his belt and tugged him closer, “that you happen to be very good at.”

“W-w-what game,” Robert’s voice shook slightly as her knee rubbed up against him.

“Spin the bottle,” Cersei smirked. In middle school, she remembered being furious at Robert when he had spun the bottle so that Rhaegar had gotten Elia. She had pouted for weeks. How satisfying that his talents were now being directed more productively.

“We could do that,” Robert managed. “So all you want is for Tormund to spin Tarth?” 

“That’s all I want,” she cast her eyes down in mock shyness, even as her fingers captured his zipper. “What do you want?”

Robert looked down at her dazedly, dark blue eyes almost black with lust. Funny, she thought, how he was almost tolerable like this. Just knowing that in this moment Robert Baratheon would do anything, say anything she liked... not for the first time she wondered what it would be like to fuck him.

“I want what you want babe,” he managed. Good boy. He almost gasped as she brushed his cock with a feather light touch. He grabbed her wrist as she withdrew her hand, hard enough to bruise, but Cersei knew she was still in control.

“Save it for our audience,” she murmured and he let go with a groan. He started to adjust his pants and she swatted his hand playfully.

“Oh let them think we fucked, I can’t have us being outdone by Stannis.”

He grinned at that, and if Cersei were honest, she liked that she knew how to make him laugh. If he was good enough, if this thing lasted long enough, she wondered if she could eradicate Lyanna Stark from his head. She could be a benevolent mistress, Cersei thought with a smirk.

When he spun her, she made sure they put on a good show. She was less impressed when she spun Ellaria. Did he have to be such a child? But this plan was going to work even if she did have to make out with trash like Ellaria Sand.

And then Tormund was kissing Brienne, and she didn’t have to look to know that Petyr was discretely snapping a picture. She gave it five minutes and then finally responded to Jaime’s text.

The reaction was better then she could have ever hoped for. The poor fool showed up not fifteen minutes later, charging in and attacking Tormund like he was the Warrior incarnate. 

Oh Jaime, Cersei thought with a pitying smile. You’re no hero.

Sure enough, his less-than-distressed damsel headed straight for the door. When Jaime finally emerged and looked for her, Cersei savored the curiously crumpled expression on his face. Then, when he finally noticed Cersei, reduced to a bit player in her own twin brother’s life, she nodded at the parking lot to drive the last nail in the coffin.

Brienne wouldn’t take him back of course, Cersei mused dreamily as she floated to the door. She wasn’t going to run interference, she just wanted to savor total victory.

Jaime stood alone in the parking lot, blood streaked down his face, blonde head bowed.

He looked up when he heard the door open. His expression twisted into something like hate. Fine. It was indifference she couldn’t abide.

“What the fuck did you do?” He snarled, walking over to her. She refused to flinch.

“From where I sit, very little,” she said coolly.

“Bullshit. BULLSHIT! You think I can’t tell when you’ve been manipulating people?! You’ve always done this and I’ve always let you get away with it. But this is too far! Don’t try this shit on me!” Jaime shouted, and Cersei let him spew his venom. He was untargeted, his anger unfocused. She wielded hers like a stiletto.

“I told you at football practice not to be controlled by father’s opinion of you,” she said, looking at her nails. “I told you to come to the party tonight. I don’t see how any of this is the result of me manipulating people.”

She finally looked up at him, at his perfect jaw working to say something, anything, in rebuttal.

“I think this is a result of your own poor decisions. And you can’t handle that so you’re looking for somebody to blame,” Cersei landed the killing blow with a coy smile. “Well don’t look at me.”

Later that night, as she lay alone in her bed, two fingers curled inside her, she remembered that expression of bleak despair on his face. As he stood bloodied and alone in a parking lot. She could make a man and she could break one, and it was that knowledge that pushed her gloriously over the edge.


	37. Thoros (Thoros Turns Eighteen 10 of 10)

The moment Beric had admitted he was jealous, Thoros had known exactly what he was doing. He had teed it up with every expectation that Beric would ignore it, but he had still teed it up.

How could he not? Lord of Light forgive him, he had never been good at resisting temptation. So what if Beric was drunk? So what if Beric probably meant mad in the vague you-have-someone-and-I-don’t way? So what if Beric was good and kind and innocent and it probably never even occurred to him until Thoros put it in his head?

Then Beric was kissing him and even if he was a manipulative terrible person, it was amazing. He kissed him like the world was ending, like there was nothing left but the two of them in this moment and the urgency of it made Thoros’ knees nearly buckle. Beric was right, he’d never had a really good kiss before.

Then it was over. Beric stepped back, breathing just a little harder, a little nervous and a lot defiant, blue eye scanning Thoros warily.

At that look, that kicked puppy uncertainty, from his golden summer lord, Thoros was lost.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them again. Beric was still giving him that look that made his heart hurt, not moving to touch him. The height differential was throwing him off a bit. He’d never kissed anyone taller than him before. But the Lord helped those who helped themselves.

He curled his fingers through Beric’s dark blond hair and pulled him down to meet him. For a moment that’s what it felt like, pulling some ethereal marble statue of perfection down into the mud with him. Then Beric came alive again and the kiss was needy and desperate like Beric might devour him whole. He let himself be pushed back against the wall, could feel Beric’s fingers sliding down his chest, knew he was hard and that Beric would be able to feel it against his leg.

Sure enough, he felt the twitch of a smile against his face, and then Beric was planting ghostly kisses along his jaw line and down his neck, even as his fingers drifted to Thoros’ lower abdomen. Thoros whined at the stimulation, trying to twist his head away, but only got nipped for his trouble.

Then Beric’s hand moved lower still, beneath the band of his boxers and Thoros’ hips bucked instinctively.

“B-Beric,” Thoros gasped, because burn him, it felt so good it was unreal.

“Th-Thoros,” Beric teased him, tongue flicking against his ear as he whispered.

“Don’t stop,” Thoros managed to ground out without a second stammer, but he was still closer to begging than he would like.

Beric kissed him properly again, even as his hand increased the pace. Thoros didn’t last long before he spilled, his cry muffled against Beric’s lips.

He broke the kiss and rested his head against Beric’s shoulder, trying to catch his breath. He felt drunker if possible, the entire world spinning around him.

“Shower?” He finally mumbled. Beric gave a faint laugh.

“You go first, I think I need some water.”

“Okay,” Thoros hadn’t actually meant separate showers, but his brain felt too slow to untangle this riddle.

He rinsed off and then crawled into bed, not bothering with clothes (at this hour modesty seemed a little beside the point). He could hear the shower going and it sounded like rain. In Norvos it had rained for three straight months every year. He remembered that sound and how much more comforting this sound was, and somewhere in the middle of that thought he fell asleep.

He woke in the morning with a hangover. On a scale of mild grogginess to the fallout of his last-night-in-Ibben bender, this was something closer to the latter. Oh well, you only turn eighteen once. And what a night it had been. The surprise party, the trip to Myr, and then Beric... Thoros turned in bed. No Beric.

His stomach roiled uneasily.

Beric had come to bed, hadn’t he? Thoros was fairly sure that he had briefly woken to the mattress shifting, and then later when he accidentally kicked him. Friggin’ twin bed. He was probably just in the kitchen having breakfast.

Thoros put on some clothes and then wandered out to the living room. No Beric. He got some Advil from a kitchen cabinet and had a handful, washed down with water. Maybe he’d gone to move his car. That was probably it. If Thoros had a car, he certainly wouldn’t leave it at Hollow Hill for an extended period of time.

Well a walk outside to Hollow Hill might do him good. Fresh air. He could pick up some bagels and hopefully run into Beric on the way. 

It was a little colder outside than it had been the day before. Their autumn of endless summer was finally turning. He was rubbing his arms through his hoodie when he got to the bar, reflecting that he really would have to sew it back up. He thought about leaving it with a needle and thread on Melisandre’s bed as a joke, but that sounded like a good way to get stabbed with a needle.

Beric’s car was gone. Thoros felt his stomach give another lurch. Food. He needed real food. He would go get bagels. Had he been walking to the bar as Beric had been driving back? Maybe they had just missed each other. Did Beric want a bagel? Thoros reached for his phone to text him, and then remembered that he had left it at the apartment.

His phone! Beric had probably texted him. He was probably already back at the apartment wondering where Thoros was. Thoros got half a dozen bagels in assorted flavors and a tub of cream cheese. He took the steps back up to the fourth floor two at a time, already imagining how disconcerted Beric must have been to find him gone.

Sure enough, as he let himself in, he could hear the rustling of movement coming from the back bedrooms. 

“Hey! Want a—” he came face to face with Stannis, quietly letting himself out of Melisandre’s bedroom. It was hard to tell which of the two of them was more uncomfortable. Ha. Kidding. It was obviously Stannis.

“Want a bagel?” Thoros began again, with slightly less enthusiasm. “It’s important to replenish your strength after any strenuous cardio activities,” he added the dig, channeling his frustration at Stannis not being the person he thought he was going to be.

“Um, this isn’t what it looks like,” Stannis winced. Thoros sighed. He didn’t particularly like Stannis, but it wasn’t his fault that Beric had vanished. And he had gotten him some very nice rum.

“It looks like you crashed here for a G-rated sleepover when Robert forgot to tell you he was leaving.”

“Oh,” Stannis said, rather more nonplussed. “Then it’s exactly what it looks like.”

“You can have a bagel anyway,” Thoros added ungenerously.

Stannis blushed again.

“I’m serious, we didn’t…”

“I believe you,” Thoros said in complete sincerity. Melisandre would never be so stupid as to let Stannis get really drunk and then decide to exponentially escalate their relationship. Nope. That was definitely more in Thoros’ wheelhouse.

“Oh,” Stannis repeated himself. Then he scowled. “But I mean I could have.”

“I’m sure,” Thoros raised an eyebrow, wondering where this conversation was going.

“Don’t you think you should be a little more protective?”

Lord of Light give him patience.

“Okay. If you break her heart, I will break your legs,” Thoros said flatly. “Then I’ll set you on fire,” he added for good measure. “Now I have to find my phone. The bagels are in the kitchen.”

“I heard it going off earlier,” Stannis mentioned, swallowing uncomfortably.

“Really?!” Thoros ran back to his bedroom, quickly ransacking the room. He finally found it in the pocket of his jeans in the hamper. Weird, he never put clothes there.

Sure enough, he had several missed texts. Unfortunately, they were all from Robert.

With a sigh, Thoros pulled up his thread with Beric.

_Where’d you go?_

Message sent, he returned to the kitchen and helped himself to a bagel. Then a second bagel. His phone still hadn’t buzzed. He checked to make sure it wasn’t on silent, then sent the volume up to maximum for good measure. Stannis had made good on his escape while Thoros had been distracted.

He was feeling physically much better, but still couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom. He glanced over to the kitchen counter, which was piled high with his birthday haul. Maybe some hair of the dog would help.

He snagged a handle without looking at it, grabbed his phone, and climbed out onto the fire escape, ascending to the roof from there. He picked a corner where he would be tucked mostly out of view, opened the bottle and took a long pull.

He had really messed things up, hadn’t he. What if Beric didn’t ever want to talk to him again. What if he was totally horrified and embarrassed and Thoros had ruined everything. The rum burned his mouth pleasantly, like fire. He remembered thinking last night, that wild perfectly perfect night, how none of this was supposed to be happening to him. That he was the type of person who drank alone on the roof, not surrounded by friends who he couldn’t possibly live up to. Well thank you universe for rectifying that clerical error.

Fuck. It wasn’t the universe, it was him. He had done this, he had messed everything up like he always did. He was sorry. Beric wasn’t around to hear it, so he just thought it to R’hllor instead. Really sorry. He knew he didn’t have any right to want the things he wanted, and it had just been a stupid moment of weakness and he would never do it again. Please make things go back to the way they were? That was enough, more than enough, he didn’t need more. He never asked for anything during prayers, he just didn’t think he could stand to lose Beric. Please bring him back. Please.

He took another drink from the bottle. There was a noise on the fire escape, of someone climbing it. He lifted his head, barely daring to hope.

Melisandre swung herself on to the roof. He dropped his head, and pulled the rum into his body protectively. 

She sniffed when she saw him, as if she was not surprised, only disappointed. Fuck that. He was a disappointing person. She should learn to live with it.

“What’d you do?” She asked, hands on her hips.

“Why do you always think I’ve done something?” he asked, trying to make his voice jokey. She saw through him. She always did.

“A little early to be drinking, don’t you think?” She said.

“You worship our lord your way and I’ll worship him mine,” he took another swallow out of spite. Melisandre pursed her lips.

“If you don’t want to talk to me about it, fine. But you better talk to Beric about it. Whatever you did can probably be fixed.”

Thoros glanced at his phone, which still hadn’t buzzed.

“I’m not so sure it can,” he admitted.

“You are the only person in the universe who doesn’t see how he looks at you,” Melisandre crossed her arms. “I sincerely doubt that even you could fuck things up so badly that he wouldn’t forgive you.”

Thoros knew that he was grasping at straws, but Lord of Light he really wanted to believe that. Still, what did it matter. Hard to apologize to someone you couldn’t even find.

“How did you find me?” He asked abruptly, suddenly suspicious.

“I used the find-my-phone app,” Melisandre smirked. “I’ve known your password for ages. It said you were still in this building.”

Huh. He should remember to change his password. But come to think of it, he knew Beric’s password. It was Blackhaven1. Huh.

“Go away,” he said to Melisandre. Surprisingly, that worked. He waited until he was sure she was really gone. Then he opened the find-my-phone app.

On the bus to Stormlands, Thoros mentally rehearsed his speech to Beric’s parents. ‘Hi, I’m here to talk to your son. He’s probably never mentioned me, but we’re actually really good friends. Or we used to be until last night. And can you let me in to see him? Oh he doesn’t want to see me? Can you let me in anyway?’ Yeah, this was going to go great.

It was another fifteen minute walk from the bus stop to Beric’s house, while Thoros mentally rehearsed his speech to Beric.

‘Hi, I’m so sorry. Please don’t hate me. I know you don’t like me that way, and that’s totally fine. We can forget this ever happened. If you want to. Anything you want. Just don’t stop being my friend. Actually you can’t. You pinkie swore on it remember? It’s a completely binding promise so now you have to forgive me.’

Thoros stopped outside of the driveway and looked up at the giant enormous castle of a house. He couldn’t do this. Fuck, but he really couldn’t do this. He vaguely remembered that there was a path on the beach behind Beric’s house that led to Robert’s house. He would just skirt the property line, get to the beach and walk over to Robert’s. 

Keeping his fingers crossed that nobody would look out their window, see a suspicious looking loiterer, and call the cops, Thoros hurried back toward the beach. He got there without incident, and breathed a slow sign of relief.

Until he saw Beric, sitting on a dock, looking out at the ocean. Oh this day kept getting better.

He wondered if Beric had heard him. He didn’t look particularly angry, but it was hard to tell from the shoulders and the back of his head. He just looked sad and pensive. Thoros didn’t like to see Beric sad, liked it even less when he knew it was his fault.

He walked over to the dock, knew that Beric must hear him now, wooden boards creaking under his tread. Beric stiffened a little, but didn’t turn. Thoros wanted to hug him, but wasn’t sure physical contact was such a good idea. He sat down next to him instead, carefully looking out at the water like Beric was doing.

“Um hi,” Thoros began.

“I’m so sorry, please don’t hate me,” Beric turned, his hands opening and closing. Thoros blinked. Wasn’t that his line?

“What?” He responded with wit and emotional intelligence. Or not.

“I know you were really drunk and I don’t know what I was thinking—”

“I wasn’t really drunk,” Thoros interrupted.

“You were very drunk,” Beric rolled his eye. “You fell down trying to open the door.”

“You pushed me!” Thoros protested at this grossly revisionist history.

“Look, I know you were really drunk and I don’t know what I was thinking coming on to you,” Beric began again doggedly.

“Woah,” Thoros caught him by the shoulder, relieved that he could break the weird barrier keeping them from touching. “I came on to you.”

Beric raised an eyebrow.

“See, you don’t even know how drunk you were. I kissed you.”

“Yeah, but only because I said ‘how does a good kiss go.’ Like c’mon, that was the most blatant pick up line of all time!” Thoros shook his head. Beric opened his mouth to say something and then shut it. Encouraged, Thoros continued. “AND, you stopped. And then I started it again. Beric, I came over to apologize to you.”

“What?” Beric stared at him. Thoros was glad that he wasn’t the only confused person on this dock.

“Yeah. Last night was basically the best night of my life.”

“But you’re not gay,” Beric squeaked.

“I told you, that concept doesn’t really exist for me culturally. I haven’t been with a guy before, but I really like you and I was totally hitting on you last night,” Thoros exhaled slowly. “I know you don’t think of me that way, but—”

“Thoros, I pretty much exclusively think of you that way,” Beric blushed. “Like all the time.”

“Wait really?” Thoros was dumbstruck.

“Really really,” Beric said, a small smile lighting up his face.

“Oh. Um okay. Well me too?” Thoros met his gaze, trying to keep the note of hope to a minimum. He realized he was still touching Beric’s shoulder and swallowed. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

“So when you were thinking of me that way, what exactly were we doing?” He gave Beric an impudent grin, willing himself to pull this off on sheer bravado alone. Beric tilted his head, cautiously optimistic, as if he hardly dared to trust this turn of events. Well if he needed more proof of Thoros’ interest, Thoros was happy to provide.

His hand never leaving Beric’s shoulder, he crawled on top of him, so he was straddling Beric’s lap. Beric laughed in disbelief, a puff of air in his face. Thoros only leaned forward to kiss him lightly in response, the movement grinding their laps together.

“It’s just, while I appreciate the birthday gift,” Thoros’ grin became saucier. “Now you have me at a disadvantage.”

“A disadvantage?” Beric repeated, seemingly torn between happiness and horniness. He leaned forward this time, the friction just as exquisite, to kiss Thoros. “Have you been drinking again?”

“Yes,” Thoros replied cheerfully to both. “You see I have a very strict one-to-one finish ratio requirement with my partners. And now I owe you.”  
“Oh?” Beric was digging his fingers into Thoros’ hips, trying to get him to resume rocking, but Thoros wouldn’t budge.

“Yes. So I must ask, do you have any ideas on how we can rectify that situation?”

Beric’s eye widened and then he smirked.

“Maybe.”


	38. Rhaegar (Homecoming 1 of 9)

Rhaegar got home later than he expected to, the drive from Sunspear having been longer than he remembered. It was amazing that Lyanna managed to make it every weekend. Even thinking of Lyanna sent a surge of warmth through him.

He might have given Homecoming a miss otherwise. High school wasn’t so far gone that he yearned for a return to some halcyon glory days. He remembered it well enough to know that precious little glory awaited him there. Only whispers and stares and the sight of Elia’s eyes sparkling with silver tears.

But Lyanna needed him. Lyanna whom he’d had to leave to those animals. Those vapid cud-chewing bovines with their big eyes and small minds. Who had never confronted a problem bigger than sleeping through first period. It hadn’t been Lyanna’s fault, none of it, and she deserved a reminder that she hadn’t sacrificed everything in vain. 

His car hummed noiselessly up the drive to his family’s palatial estate. His father had been mayor of King’s Landing for almost twenty years now, he was used to the red eye of the security camera, the pause while the ornate gates reinforced with stainless steel swung open.

His mother had likely gone to bed, exhausted from little Viserys. Rhaegar shook his head. Eighteen years an only child and now he had a little brother. And his mother was pregnant again. Some might call it a second honeymoon, but he worried for his mother. She had sounded odd on the phone of late, hesitant and distracted.

Well, his father could be mercurial at the best of times. Perhaps the new child had added yet more stress into their lives. The public didn’t know the half of it. A serious substance abuse problem, anger management issues, and a bipolar disorder exacerbated by his father’s frequent abandonment of his medication. Rhaegar flinched at the thought of his father. Don’t think about that. Think about Lyanna and Sunspear and walking the beaches of Dorne with her next year.

His fearsome wolf girl who would take on the world. With her, he could be somebody new. Not a Targaryen, just Rhaegar. What they had together was enough and to hell with the rest of it. To hell with the rest of them.

He parked the car around the side, and as he had been doing since childhood, began to climb the trellises that led to his second floor bedroom window. His mother had probably checked to make sure it was unlocked before she retired—she had always known him better than he knew himself.

Sure enough, the window was unlocked and he slid easily in. He liked to feel like an intruder in his own house, some neutral third party observer separate and apart from the unhappiness that haunted these walls. He could pad through the hallways and look at their family portraits, the publicity shots of his father, the gilded chandeliers and the curated antiques. Not a home but a museum. No, a mausoleum.

He paused in front of an antique mirror frame, studied his reflection. He belonged among the oil paintings, the finely wrought aristocratic features, the silver hair, the eyes such a pale shade of purple they were nearly lilac. They were his mother’s eyes. His father’s were a brooding intense shade of violet, arresting in their violence. His mother’s eyes were gentle.

His mother had been the one who tried to warn him that he and Elia were growing apart, that perhaps the girlfriend you’d had since third grade was not the person you were meant to be with for your entire life. His mother had been right.

His father had pointed out that he had meet Rhaegar’s mother when they were children, that they had been fostered together, that they had never known anyone else, never wanted anyone else. Here his father had squeezed his mother’s hand so tightly that the flesh went white.

His father was untrusting on his best of days. He preferred the people who had known him before his diagnosis, the people who remembered him as the clear eyed brilliant charming wunderkind who had fought the old political bosses and won. Rhaegar wondered if his father noticed how few of those people were left.

Speaking of... his footsteps took him past his father’s study and the light was on. For a brief painful moment, he considered whether the dutiful act was to pop his head in and wish his father good night. Then he heard a glass smash against the wall and break.

“You’d have us run! Our tails between our legs, because Jeor Mormont pulled some old cases?!” His father was sneering, his voice high pitched and cold.

There was a low reply, an indistinct rumble.

“You’re a coward! You lack vision! You’ve always had your nose in the ledgers like a fucking accountant. Think bigger! We didn’t enter this partnership to make you rich, though the gods know we have. We started this thing to bring the city to heel! For power! Power is what I’m talking about, the power to crush our enemies, the Jeor Mormonts of the world, under our boot in one fell swoop!”

A creaking floor board, rumble. Rhaegar edged closer.

“Because you’re too blind to see it! I’m not crazy, you feeble-minded fool!” His father shouted. “I remember who I am. Who you are. What you are. Starving with your siblings as that monstrosity of a mansion fell apart around your heads. Five of you, and not a pair of shoes that fit among you. And now look at you. Well I suppose all the money in the world can’t buy loyalty eh? You’re either with me or against me. It’s time you decided which.”

This time no rumble, only a silence that spoke more than words.

“I trust you haven’t grown so complacent that you’ve forgotten how I deal with my enemies, old friend,” Aerys spat the last like an epithet, heavy with malice.

The study door slammed open.

“And don’t forget how I deal with mine,” the figure in the doorway hissed, a lean silhouette framed against the study’s fireplace. “I always pay my debts.”

Then he turned and stormed out.

It was Tywin Lannister, his father’s longtime crony, face twisted in an expression of disgust. Blond with narrow shoulders and a face drawn in lines of hunger and hate. His eyes fell on Rhaegar, and the electricity behind his blue green stare made Rhaegar feel almost nauseous.

“Little boys shouldn’t listen at keyholes,” Tywin snarled as he stalked past, movements lithe but the pent up energy making Rhaegar’s neck prickle.

“Rhaegar! Is that you?!” The querulous voice came from the study.

Rhaegar stared at the figure of Tywin disappearing down the hallway, lost in the twilight.

“Yes father,” he said with a sigh, stepping in. Almost immediately he was struck by the insufferable heat. The fireplace was roaring, the windows barred, the thermostat cranked up despite the lingering traces of summer outside.

“You’re not hot?” He managed. His father stared at him with his yellowing purple gaze and sneered.

“The blood of the dragons runs in our veins. Fire cannot harm us.”

“Of course father,” Rhaegar said patiently, wondering if Aerys’ grip on lucidity had been equally tenuous with Tywin. 

“Play me something,” his father commanded, nodding to the harp that stood in the corner. Rhaegar had grown up playing the harp. Some of his earliest memories were in this study, playing as his parents waltzed on the balcony with the scent of wisteria drifting in.

He looked over to where his father lolled, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, so close to the fire that his white shirt was dappled with sweat stains.

“Play!” His father snapped, and Rhaegar’s fingers began to move over the strings.

He was aware of his father pulling his chair up and leaning forward to watch with an expression of disconcerting intensity, his silver hair too long, framing a prematurely aged face.

Rhaegar mercifully came to the end of the sonata, and paused, trying to think how to politely extricate himself. His father suddenly reached out and grabbed his hand. Rhaegar looked down, wondering when his father had last cut his nails.

“Trust nobody,” his father said, his fingers biting into Rhaegar’s wrist.

“Excuse me?” Rhaegar stumbled. “Are you talking about Tywin?”

“Tywin... Tywin can burn with the rest of them,” his father muttered, grip loosening. “Trust nobody, Rhaegar. Not your friends... Not your family.” 

Mouth dry, Rhaegar merely nodded. His father’s grip tightened again.

“What were you doing listening outside my study?” 

“I wasn’t... I didn’t...” Rhaegar stammered.

“Are you a spy? What did they promise you?”

“Father!” Rhaegar twisted, pulling his hand away, wincing as his father’s claws left bloody streaks along the fleshy part of his wrist.

“You’re a dragon, son, you must never betray me,” Aerys huddled deeper into his chair, the fire casting weird shadows over his face.

“Never,” Rhaegar swallowed and then fled the study, his father’s hoarse chuckle dogging him every step of the way.


	39. Jaime (Homecoming 2 of 9)

Jaime got down to breakfast late, and immediately regretted coming down at all. Cersei and Tyrion’s chairs were pushed far too close together, and they were talking in low murmurs about Tyrion’s math homework. Cersei never sat near Tyrion if she could help it. Had probably never helped Tyrion with his math homework in her life. That they were creating a simulacrum of picture perfect sibling domesticity meant that father was in a foul mood and the two were presenting a united front to weather the storm.

Sure enough, as he rounded the corner, the far end of the table became visible. His father’s face was buried in a newspaper but on hearing the footsteps, he looked up.

“Breakfast began at seven, Jaime,” Tywin noted acidly. “The plates will be cleared at seven thirty as always. I trust you will use the next three minutes wisely.”

Jaime squared his shoulders, poured some orange juice and sat down, taking a bite of a cold omelette spitefully. Tyrion was shaking his head in warning.

“Tyrion, are you developing a twitch?!” Tywin slammed the paper down.

“No father,” the boy muttered.

Jaime scanned his surroundings again, trying to pick up clues as to the origins of the storm whose wake they were all tiptoeing through. He met his sister’s gaze, and she flicked her eyes to the front page section of the newspaper, currently discarded on the table.

CITY ENDS LANNISTER CORP CONTRACT IN CORRUPTION SCANDAL

LANNISTER CORP STOCK PRICES PLUMMET

TYWIN’S TIME UP? EMBATTLED CEO’S ASSETS FROZEN; MAY FACE CRIMINAL CHARGES

“Father,” Jaime gulped. “Is everything okay?”

“As I discussed with your sister and brother when they arrived to breakfast on time,” Tywin shot his oldest son a glare, “the mayor and I have had a rather serious disagreement over the future of Lannister Corp’s partnership with the city. Aerys Targaryen is not known for his temperate responses. Naturally his appointed commissioner of police, Owen Merryweather, was happy to open an investigation. They won’t prove anything. Lannister Corp has been pivoting away from its municipal construction contracts for the last three years. This will accelerate our return to our core mineral and petroleum products offerings, but only twelve to eighteen months ahead of schedule.” Tywin steepled his fingers and Jaime swore the temperature in the room dropped by several degrees. “As for my frozen assets, the bulk of our family’s wealth is stored in off-shore accounts. The day has yet to come when the likes of Aerys Targaryen can get the drop on me. But rest assured, the pittance that he did manage to get his grimy talons on will be repaid. With interest.”

Jaime wiped a bead of perspiration from the back of his neck.

“So everything’s fine.”

Tywin gave a grim and singularly joyless smile.

“As far as you’re concerned, yes. As far as I’m concerned, it will be.”

Later in the car, Cersei was less sanguine.

“Did you hear what he said? They won’t prove anything,” she drummed her fingers on the center console.

“And? If he says they won’t, they won’t,” Jaime shrugged with assumed nonchalance.

“That’s not the same as saying he didn’t do it,” Cersei retorted. 

“You think our father is guilty of the single largest corruption scheme in the history of King’s Landing?” Jaime raised an eyebrow. Cersei stared at him pointedly. “Okay so maybe he did do it,” Jaime caved. “What’s that got to do with us?”

“What’s it got to do with me? Not much. There’s not a girl in our class who would mention the paper to my face. And as long as my boyfriend is Robert Baratheon, there’s not a boy who will either. As far as colleges go, the bad press is no boon but as long as I have a 4.0 GPA, this is all just fodder for an emotional personal essay where I talk about how my father’s trial by press inspired me to choose a pre-law major and fight for the sanctity of our legal institutions,” Cersei’s voice was cool and contemplative, and Jaime was reminded eerily of their father.

“But you… Jaime, you need to very seriously consider what your college plans are. I wouldn’t count on the Lannister name unlocking any doors you wouldn’t otherwise open yourself,” Cersei scanned his face, looking for signs of understanding. Jaime understood. His grades were mediocre. School had never held a great deal of interest for him, and he’d never seen much reason to try harder than was required to avoid giving Tywin a coronary.

“This will blow over by next year,” Jaime said with more confidence than he felt. “And if it doesn’t, maybe I can’t go to the Citadel with you, but coach thinks I have a shot at getting recruited for football.”

“I’m thinking the Aerie actually,” Cersei mused, more to herself. “I’m not familiar with the athletic recruiting process, do you think you have a shot there?”

“You’ve always wanted to go to the Citadel,” Jaime frowned.

“They don’t recruit athletes. If I went to the Citadel, we wouldn’t be together,” she pointed out. Jaime felt a surge of frustration. Their relationship still hadn’t completely returned to normal since things had blown up with Brienne, even if he was prepared to concede that he’d had his own role to play in that fiasco.

“You can’t base your college decision on where I’m going to be,” Jaime scowled. Cersei looked at him, a frisson of hurt melting into anger with breathtaking speed.

“It’s one of several factors,” she said. “Robert promised to take me to the law school when we visit for his campus tour in December. I’ll be in a better position to evaluate then.”

Jaime ground his teeth, entering the senior parking lot and pulling his parking break with unnecessary force.

“How generous of him. Some friendly advice? Your fake relationship will last exactly as long as it takes Robert to get drunk outside your presence. He’s lasted about as long as the poor sod is capable of, celibacy-wise. I give it until the next away football game before he’s scoring, if you catch my drift. So maybe don’t plan on December.”

Cersei smiled indulgently at him.

“Duly noted. And while we’re doling out friendly advice? Let me assure you that you should be spending more time worrying about yourself. College might be the biggest problem on your horizon, but it’s not the most immediate.”

Jaime frowned as he tried to grasp her meaning, but she only hopped out of the car.

“See you around,” she said, in a sugar sweet voice that coated something much harder. “Have a super awesome day at school.”

Her warning didn’t sink in at first. He noticed a murmur or two in the halls that would always die out as he approached. A few Westerlanders gave him a sympathetic nod or two. Addam Marbrand made a show of giving him a one-armed hug when they ran into each other in the hall. Good man.

It wasn’t until the end of second period when Meryn Trant approached him, backed by Boros Blount and Ilyn Payne.

“Lannister,” Trant crossed his arms.

“Trant,” Jaime gave back. 

“I’ll be wanting my parking pass back,” Trant yawned. 

“Excuse me?” Jaime arched an eyebrow. That Meryn Trant dared to speak to him at all was irritating, let along with the casual disrespect that he was showing now.

“Yeah, see, I’d hate to be caught up in this police probe,” Trant smirked, as Blount and Payne elbowed each other. “Can’t have my parking pass getting seized along with the rest of your daddy’s money.” Jaime itched to punch him in his stupid smarmy face. 

“We paid you for that,” Jaime crossed his arms instead. “Are you planning on reimbursing me?”

“How about this. You give me my parking pass and I don’t report you for theft. See, I have two witnesses who say you were going through my locker last week. And I’m sure that’s exactly the kind of publicity your family needs right now,” Trant leered.

Jaime breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. He could beat these losers in his sleep. Well, maybe not his sleep, but he knew he could take them. Except how would getting sent to detention for fighting help him? Trant would still report him for theft, and then he would have two black marks on his record instead of one.

With a snarl, he dug into his wallet for Trant’s senior parking ID. Now he needed to find a senior who didn’t have a car to drive his car home. Marbrand took the bus sometimes didn’t he? Jaime cringed at the thought of having to ask Gregor Clegane.

Trant stuffed the permit in his pocket with an expression of malevolent satisfaction, and tossed a fiver at Jamie.

“For your father’s legal defense fund,” he sneered.

Jaime bit his tongue, as they walked off laughing. They were all on the football team. He could get some part of his revenge the very next tackling drill. But in light of needing to park in the overflow lots for the rest of the school year, it felt a cold comfort.

“You’re not going to pick that up?” The voice was light and playful. Jaime tensed. Euron Greyjoy gave an elaborate shrug and claimed the fiver. His left arm was still in a cast, but he looked otherwise recovered from his beating two months prior. Leave it to an Essosi like Thoros Asshai to give up a job half-done.

“I didn’t realize you were out of hospital,” Jaime said snidely. That was untrue—Euron set him deeply on edge and he known the first day the Greyjoy had been back. A broken arm, two broken ribs and a fractured skull and he had only missed three weeks of school. Apparently a fractured skull didn’t count for much when your brain was already scrambled to begin with.

“I didn’t realize you let the likes of Meryn Trant push you around,” Greyjoy smiled, odd gray eyes sparkling like they were sharing a delightful joke.

“The likes of Meryn Trant should watch their back,” Jaime growled. “I don’t forgive and forget.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Euron agreed. “For example, I don’t forget that you brought the Cleganes to a Stormlands Iron Port brawl. We had the numbers to win that fight without them. I never knew you were such good friends with Robert Baratheon.”

“Maybe I’m just not friends with you,” Jaime riposted.

“Your loss. You seem like someone fresh out of friends,” Euron cocked his head.

“Is that a challenge? I don’t think you could have beat me with both hands,” Jaime sneered, nodding at the cast.

“Not a challenge,” Euron said, gray eyes glinting too wide. “Just that Meryn Trant’s not the only one who should watch his back.”

“I don’t scare quite as easily as the Baratheons,” Jaime snapped.

“Aye. And your sister doesn’t scare at all,” Euron smirked. “I can’t tell you what an attractive quality that is in a woman.”

Jaime closed his eyes, willed his blood pressure to lower. There was no honor in attacking somebody in a sling.

“I would have thought you learned your lesson about messing with people’s sisters,” he said tightly.

“On the contrary. I learned my lesson about messing with people who bring baseball bats to knife fights,” Euron grinned. “It’s not nearly as entertaining as you’d think. But you? Oh I think you’re too proud for that. And you Lannisters are endlessly entertaining.”

Jaime glared at him. He was scum, poking to see where his opponent flinched. He got a kick out of provoking people and Jaime would not give him the satisfaction.

“You aren’t worth my time, Greyjoy,” he said curtly and stormed to the cafeteria.

There was no seat at Center Table for him. Such a petty insignificant thing. He had always hated Center Table. But to know that the likes of Petyr Baelish and Edmure Tully wouldn’t shift for him? Cersei was sitting in Robert’s lap, and she gave him the faintest knowing arch of an eyebrow. Play the game, she was saying. Jaime turned and pushed towards the Westerlands table although not in time to avoid seeing Cersei feed Robert a grape.

Addam could drive the car home after practice. Jaime gave him the keys and thanked the Mother for little blessings.

But what the Mother giveth, the Stranger can take taketh away.

It was just after last period when his cell phone rang. Jaime was already half way down to the gym lockers, and he wouldn’t have answered it at all except it was Tyrion.

“Hey, what’s—“

“Jaime, please come get me,” his little brother said, sounding on the verge of tears.

“What’s wrong?” Jaime asked, already scanning the crowd for Marbrand. Shit, he was down at the fields already.

“A bunch of guys said they’re going to kick my ass after school. Said it was their civic duty cuz their parents’ tax dollars went into our dad’s pocket. Jaime, I’m scared,” Tyrion mumbled into the phone.

He needed a car. Who had a car?!

“Where are you?” Jaime said, trying to sound calm and in control.

“I’m in the art class kiln room,” Tyrion whispered. “Please hurry, I don’t know how long it will take for them to find me.”

“Don’t worry Tyrion, I’m on my way,” Jaime promised, even as his sinking heart told him he was nowhere close to on his way. 

And then he saw her, walking toward the athletic fields, wearing a jersey like she had when he had seen her for the very first time.

“Brienne!” He shouted. She stiffened—even in this moment, as desperate as he was, he could not help but notice that and be hurt by it—and then turned to face him, braced for confrontation.

“Please, my brother’s in trouble, I need to borrow your car,” he blurted, trying to explain, trying to make her comprehend the urgency of the situation.

“What kind of trouble? Where?” Brienne asked, suspicious eyes scanning his face for falsehood. She would find none, Jaime could barely keep the panic at bay. Tyrion, his defenseless little brother. He was Tyrion’s only friend in the world, he could not fail him now.

“Middle school, some bullies. I need to get there, I don’t know what they’ll do to him,” Jaime wanted to grab her hand but knew he had no right.

“Brienne, please,” He begged, and he saw the stern line of her lips soften.

“I’ll drive.”


	40. Brienne (Homecoming 3 of 9)

Brienne gripped the wheel tightly, trying to concentrate on the road and not on her passenger beside her. She had no business doing this—getting involved at all was a mistake of epic proportions.

But still, jerk or not, the person sitting next to her was in trouble. And his little brother, who had played no part in this drama, certainly didn’t deserve to get beat up by a bunch of bullies for the sins of his family.

Brienne had never met Tyrion, though Jaime had talked of him frequently when they were still talking. She had never met his father either, never even spent time at his house, except when Cersei had invited her. Perhaps that should have been a sign something was off. But Jaime adored Tyrion, and her heart hurt to know what he was going through. If Renly had been in trouble...

Jaime was shooting searching looks at her, she could feel his eyes on her face. She blinked, willing the dreaded flush away and refused to acknowledge his presence.

Evidently deciding that if he was not going to get an opening, he would have to create one, Jaime cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he said, right as she said, “Don’t.”

He flinched at the raw pain in that word. For a second Brienne thought he was going to touch her arm and was glad he didn’t. She thought she might have shattered like glass if he had.

She knew the middle school was just beyond the elementary school where Renly was. A ten minute drive, she could last ten minutes. Even if this silence was deafening, even if she could have heard a pin drop. Just keep your mouth shut, she told herself.

“Just out of curiosity, what are you sorry for?” She heard herself say, voice chilly and monotone. “Ignoring me? Belittling me in front of your lackeys? Insulting my friends to my face? Or was it the part where you made an enormous ass of yourself by crashing a party and attacking a complete stranger?”

“All of it,” Jaime said in a very small and quiet voice. “But mostly the first part.”

Brienne supposed the words should bring her some comfort, but they didn’t. An apology didn’t undo the hurt he had already caused her.

“Then why did you do it?” She asked simply.

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” Jaime swallowed. “And that night at the Sadie Hawkins dance…” 

Brienne remembered that night, remembered how he had looked at her like he had never seen her before. Besotted, Ellaria Sand had said.

“I thought I was about to mess that up. And I didn’t want to mess that up. Do you know what I mean?”

Brienne bit her lip. She nodded. He had gotten rather drunk after all. Drunk enough to find her attractive. 

“I—I get that. But why did you have to be so mean to me after?” She whispered.

“I should have never done that. I just thought—some space might help us get back to where we were before,” Jaime explained hesitantly. 

He had been worried that she had fallen for him. Brienne’s shoulders dropped. Well why lie to herself, she had been falling for him. Maybe Jaime had been right. Still, even if he wasn’t the world’s biggest jerk, his explanation didn’t make her feel any better. If anything it just made her feel worse. She had embarrassed him by hanging all over him, to the point where he’d needed to step back. It was mortifying. Nothing, however, explained his behavior at the party. Brienne latched on to that, reminded herself that she wasn’t the only one at fault here.

“What do you calling punching Tormund then? Space?!” She countered, trying to squelch the feelings of shame that were threatening to consume her. Even if she had been behaving like a mopey little girl pining for her prince, Jaime Lannister didn’t need to know that. That much of her dignity she could salvage.

“I was worried about you,” Jaime frowned. “I overreacted, and I’m sorry I embarrassed you, but that was still dangerous behavior. I was trying to look out for you.”

“Dangerous behavior?!” Brienne scoffed. “I never knew spin-the-bottle was so sordid. You should really warn people. Maybe do a Dateline special on it or something.”

“Spin-the-bottle?” Jaime stiffened.

“Yes, spin-the-bottle,” Brienne snapped. “Surely you didn’t think my radiant good looks swept a stranger off his feet.”

“The picture Varys posted made it look different,” Jaime stammered awkwardly. “And I wasn’t trying to insult—”

“Varys wasn’t even there!” Brienne finally saw the middle school and turned in. “You know who was there? Me! And did you even think to ask me?! To trust me?!”

She parked the car with a jolt and then stared at the wheel, head slightly bent so she wouldn’t have to see Jaime’s remorseful expression.

“You’re right, I know you’re right,” Jaime mumbled. “Can we just rewind this to before Sadie Hawkins? I just want us to be friends again.”

Brienne opened the car door.

“I’ll think about it,” she said finally. “Let’s just focus on finding Tyrion.”

It hadn’t been so long since she had walked these halls, and she remembered where the kiln room was well enough. They hurried through the corridors, breaking into a sprint when they heard a slamming sound.

Four boys were trying to kick the door down, with little success.

“Someone you’re looking for?” Jaime asked, pointedly blocking their exit.

Two boys immediately recognized who he was and gulped, faces going ashen. The third only stopped and stared suspiciously. The fourth, the largest and clearly the dumbest, sneered.

“You don’t go here. Mind your own business.” 

“You seem to be laboring under a misapprehension,” Jaime smiled, voice patronizing and eyes furious. “Which is that what’s behind that door is not my business.” Here his tone began to get dangerously low. “Let me assure you, what happens to my brother is very much my business. Now you three,” he jerked his head at the silent others, “have the option to start running now. But your friend with the pituitary gland problem and I need to have a discussion about my business.”

Brienne stood aside as the other three tore off, though her fingers itched to knock a few heads together. The only thing bullies learned from mercy is that they could get away with it.

“I didn’t know,” the last one whimpered, his bravado long gone. 

“Tyrion!” Jaime raised his voice. “You can come out now.”

The door opened slowly, and a small figure poked his head out. He had golden curls and green eyes, but that’s where his resemblance to Jaime ended. His stunted frame made him look younger than Renly, and Brienne felt a stab of pity for this tween the size of a small child. That pity lasted until Tyrion shot her a shrewd look, as if he knew exactly what was going through her head and was rather bored by it. 

“I’m sure this… worm,” Jaime’s hand closed over the back of the boy’s neck, pinching a nerve and causing him to seize in agony, “has something he wants to say to you.”

“I’m sorry,” the boy blubbered, shoulders up around his ears, twisting feebly to escape Jaime’s grasp.

“Sorry for calling me a monster that should have been put down at birth?” Tyrion asked, dusting the clay off his pants.

“Yes,” the boy gasped.

“Sorry for saying my family were leeches?”

“Yes,” the boy nodded quickly.

“You know, this is my brother. You should really be apologizing to him too since you called him a leech,” Tyrion leaned against the wall and Jaime concealed a smirk.

“I’m sorry,” the boy whined. “Please let me go, I’ll never do it again.”

“He says he’ll never do it again,” Tyrion tilted his head at Jaime. “Do we believe him?”

“What’s his name?” Jaime asked musingly.

“Rodger Benton,” Tyrion responded.

“Where does he live?” 

“In Iron Port.”

“Of course he does,” Jaime sneered. “Well, Rodger Benton from Iron Port,” he shook him by the neck lightly, “the next time you try to track down Tyrion, consider how easy it would be for me to track down you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes,” the boy nearly sobbed.

“Good. Now start running. I’ve had just about all I can take of Iron born today,” Jaime hissed and tossed the boy into the hall like a ragdoll. Rodger Benton fled without looking back.

“Tyrion,” Jaime squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “You had me worried.”

“I never worried for a second,” Tyrion boasted, probably in jest. “I knew you’d make it in time. I just didn’t expect you to bring back up. Were you concerned about getting beaten up by some middle schoolers?”

“I’m Brienne Tarth,” Brienne held out her hand.

“Tyrion Lannister,” Tyrion reached up and shook it firmly. “But you probably already knew that.”

“Brienne drove me here,” Jaime added. “You might think you’re having a bad day, but I can assure you, mine has been a train wreck.”

“Clearly we need to be drinking our sorrows away,” Tyrion announced firmly. “Brienne, can I interest you in a milkshake? Jaime’s paying.”

At the look of mock outrage on Jaime’s face, Brienne had to snort.

“I suppose I can go,” she rolled her eyes exaggeratedly to conceal a smile. “But only because if I didn’t, you would have no other way of getting there.”

When they were appropriately settled at the diner counter, milkshakes in hand, Tyrion leaned back.

“So are you ready to talk about it?” He asked Jaime with a raised eyebrow.

“Ready to talk about what?” Jaime said confused.

“How you lost your car,” Tyrion prompted. Brienne, who hadn’t gotten the story either, turned towards him.

“Meryn fucking Trant threatened to report me for theft of his parking pass unless I gave it back. Marbrand said he’d drop the car off after practice, but of course I needed a ride before then,” Jaime responded sullenly.

“Ouch,” Tyrion winced.

“He can’t do that!” Brienne blurted, outraged on Jaime’s behalf. “That’s perjury!”

“Oh wench,” Jaime sighed. “The fact is I bribed him to begin with, and that doesn’t look any better in light of my father’s recent misadventures.”

Brienne realized with a start that she hadn’t even spoken to Jaime about this morning’s paper. She had been so wrapped up in her own problems that it hadn’t occurred to her.

“Jaime,” she put down her milkshake. “I want you to know that I didn’t believe those awful stories for a second. I have every conviction that your father is innocent and that a full investigation will clear him of all charges,” she said heatedly.

Jaime and Tyrion stared at her for a moment and then burst into laughter.

“Good one Brienne,” Tyrion nearly choked as he tried to recover.

“I don’t understand,” Brienne began, before Jaime stopped her with a touch to her hand. The spark of warmth was enough to stay her.

“He definitely did it,” Jaime assured her. “Like without question.”

“Guilty as sin,” Tyrion toasted his glass.

“A full investigation MIGHT clear him of all charges, but you’re just about the only person who would call Tywin Lannister innocent,” Jaime gave her a fond look. Brienne looked back at him baffled. They acted like it was a great joke, but there was no concealing the edge behind their laughter.

“I see,” she said uncertainly, and then found her footing. “But still, Trant has no right to do what he’s doing! Just because your father’s in the press for corruption!” She took a long brooding sip of her strawberry milkshake. “Why should the sins of the father be visited upon the son?!”

Jaime smiled at her, a beautiful heart-breaking smile.

“When have they not been?” He asked.

She bit her tongue, the injustice of it all still rankling her. They finished and Jaime paid the bill, good naturedly ribbing his brother for extortion. They got back in the car for the short drive back to the Lannister mansion. Brienne found that she liked to be around Jaime and Tyrion, that the person Jaime was around Tyrion was the Jaime she knew, funny and kind and protective.

“Tyrion, it was so lovely to meet you,” Brienne said sincerely as she dropped them off. “I hope I’ll see you again before long.”

“How about Saturday?” Tyrion grinned.

“What?” Brienne asked startled.

“The Homecoming game on Saturday. I can’t miss Jaime’s biggest game of the season! Aren’t you coming?”

Brienne flushed. Were she and Jaime friends again? Had they put the miserable last month behind them? She had never been to any of Jaime’s games. She shot him a questioning glance but he just looked hopeful.

“Of course,” she caved.

“Great! Want to sit together? That is if you don’t mind sitting toward the front. It’s not just the unobstructed view, I plan to be heckling Trant the entire game,” Tyrion winked.

“Well that I can get on board with,” Brienne grinned. Maybe Jaime hadn’t been besotted with her and maybe Sadie Hawkins hadn’t been a date. But there was a path here back to friendship. Back to the way things were. And that was all she needed. Right?


	41. Ber/Stan (Homecoming 4 of 9)

Beric checked his watch. His physical training had run late, and he had to stop back by the house to get his schoolbooks before he met Thoros at the library. This needed to be a quick thirty second detour to grab his bag from his bedroom.

“Where are you going in such a rush?” His mother called. Beric sighed. He had gotten approximately five steps through the door.

“To the library, Mom. I’m meeting a friend to study.” And shamelessly flirt, Beric added silently.

“Which friend?” His mother, Ceylena Dondarrion, walked out of the kitchen, looking concerned.

“His name’s Thoros. I told you about him, you haven’t met him,” Beric continued on up the stairs to his room. Ceylena trailed after him.

“I remember you mentioning him. Not from Stormlands is he?”

“Nope, he lives in High Hill,” Beric said.

“High Hill?” His mother pursed her lips. “You know there’s quite an undesirable element there these days. I’m not sure you should be spending much time there.”

“He’s friends with Robert,” Beric crossed his arms defensively, omitting the fact that Thoros was probably part of the undesirable element his mother was referring to.

“Robert Baratheon?”

“Do we know another Robert?” Beric snarked.

“Well I suppose that’s alright then. But you don’t think Robert is rather… wild?” She fretted. Beric sent a silent prayer to the Mother for patience.

“I’m just going to the library. Honestly, do you approve of any of my friends?” Beric grabbed his bag and sidled past her.

“You know I always loved Jon, darling.” Right. Probably not as much if she’d known what they had actually been up to.

“He called this morning, you know,” she mentioned too-casually. “Said he’d been trying to reach you.”

Beric winced. He had in fact ignored two missed calls from Jon this week. He assumed he was in town for Homecoming. But honestly, he’d never been good enough for Jon whole. The idea of catching up with Jon over coffee so Jon could ogle his mangled body and congratulate himself on a bullet dodged didn’t sound that appealing.

“Yeah, I’ll call him back.”

“Beric,” Ceylena admonished quietly. Beric dutifully met her gaze. “I just worry that you’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re constantly going to physical training, you’re hanging out with these boys that you never used to spend time with. Spring break trips to Myr? Wouldn’t you rather stay home and take a standardized test prep course? And now you’re blowing off your old friends? If there’s something wrong, you can talk to me.”

Beric desperately wanted to tell her that nothing was wrong, that finally after a very long time, everything was right. That half the time she thought he was at physical training he was hanging out with the undesirable element in High Hill. That for the first time he was having fun and making friends and if he was blowing off Jon Connington, it was because he knew the difference between a healthy relationship and an unhealthy relationship.

“Of course Mom, I love you,” he said quietly, and pressed a kiss to her cheek before he left. He was only running maybe ten minutes late. That wasn’t so bad. The buses were often late, Thoros was probably behind himself. He opened the car door and tossed his backpack onto the passenger seat.

“Beric,” a serious and all-too-familiar voice said behind him. Beric wondered what he had ever done to deserve this.

“Hi Jon,” he turned and smiled tightly, aware that he was wearing his gym clothes and covered in sweat, and oh yeah, was missing a friggin’ eye. Great day to run into the ex.

Jon Connington was tall and rangy with neatly coiffed red hair, a trim beard and stern features. Naturally, he looked like he had wandered out of some outdoor catalogue’s autumn edition. He made no great secret of taking in Beric’s changed appearance, his natural frown deepening slightly.

“I hope this isn’t a bad time,” Jon began.

“Well actually,” Beric tried to break in.

“I just worried that you were avoiding me, and I wanted to try and find you before we ran into each other on Saturday.” Beric mentally sighed and tried not to look at his watch. “I heard about the accident.”

“Yeah, it was last spring,” Beric bit. “You were a senior, remember?” A senior who had never bothered to call or visit. Beric tried not to take it personally but it was hard. It wasn’t like they’d still been together, but Beric had thought they were at least friends.

“You’re right, I should have made an effort to see you,” Jon admitted to Beric’s unspoken accusation. “I just… I wasn’t in a good place. I think you know why.”

Rhaegar getting together with Lyanna. Honestly, Jon’s reaction had made Robert look apathetic. Was it bad that Beric felt rather bored by Jon’s pathos? He tried to summon up some empathy.

“Look, it’s water under the bridge,” Beric gave a weak shrug. “How have you been? How’s Sunspear?”

“It’s good, Rhaegar and I are thinking of rushing a fraternity,” Jon smiled. Beric wondered what Lyanna thought of that.

“Hmm that’s nice.” This time he really did glance at his watch. Jon got the hint. He was nothing if not well-bred.

“I was hoping you might join us at the football game tomorrow,” Jon said abruptly. Beric tilted his head quizzically.

“I just thought, since you’re not on the team anymore, you’d probably be watching,” Jon shifted his weight. Beric had not planned to attend. Seeing his former teammates more or less thrive without him made him a little sad, and that sadness made him feel uncomfortable. He shouldn’t begrudge them their success, shouldn’t resent that they still had what he had lost.

“I wasn’t—” Beric began.

“Rhaegar wants me to sit with him and Lyanna,” Jon blurted. “I could really use some moral support.”

“Uh right. I’m sort of seeing someone,” Beric began, not sure where this was going.

“Bring him. The more the merrier. I just don’t want to get stuck talking with that Stark bitch,” Jon’s impeccable manners cracked for a second. Beric mentally face palmed. Of course Jon wasn’t jealous. Not of him anyway. That was too much to hope for.

“I guess we can come,” Beric tried to smile, wondering how on earth he was going to sell this to Thoros. You know that sport you hate? I was thinking we could go to a game, and sit with your friend’s ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend, who happens to be your friend’s mortal enemy, and oh yeah, my ex will be there too. 

“What’s a synonym for enormous?” Thoros asked, two hours later in the study room that they had commandeered, leaning back in his chair so far that it was a miracle he didn’t fall. Beric looked up from where he was trying to finish an essay on the symbolism of fire in The Dance of Dragons. He wasn’t making much progress. Whether it was because he was still trying to figure out how to bring up Homecoming or because Thoros had a habit of chewing on his lip while thinking that Beric found very distracting was unclear.

“Huge, giant, large, vast… what’s the context?” 

“The enormous Ghiscari war elephants laid waste to the Rhoynar infantry, breaking their lines and crushing them underfoot,” Thoros read from his essay with bloodthirsty relish.

“Are you still writing about the elephants?” Beric snorted. “You said the assignment was ten pages about the Ghiscari conquest of ancient Essos.”

“And now I have seven,” Thoros grinned. “If I increase the margins, maybe eight.”

“You have seven pages about elephants,” Beric corrected him. “Pycelle is going to wonder if you did the reading or went to the zoo.”

“Neither, obviously,” Thoros yawned. “Unless the Hollow Hill clientele count?”

“I suppose I could take a look at your paper,” Beric said slowly. “If you did something for me?”

Thoros immediately shot him a lecherous smirk. 

“Anything my lord desires.”

“Come with me to the Homecoming game on Saturday?”

Thoros’ face fell.

“A football game?” He asked dubiously. “I don’t even know the rules.”

“What rules?” Beric stood up and walked behind Thoros, shutting the door to their room with a casual kick. “No rules,” he promised, wrapping his arms around Thoros’ shoulders, his breath tickling his ear. “Just drinking,” he ran a finger down Thoros’ arm lazily. “with friends. I’d be so very grateful.”

Thoros squirmed slightly and Beric knew he had him.

“I guess it would be rude not to support our team,” Thoros looked back up at Beric. Beric kissed him, marveled that he could do that whenever he felt like it, and kissed him again. This time giving his lower lip a little bite since it had been taunting him all afternoon. Thoros shifted under him, and Beric pulled back teasingly.

“Beric,” Thoros whispered throatily, and Beric smiled in anticipation. 

“Yes?”

“Don’t you have my history paper to be writing?”

~~~~

Stannis hated asking people for favors, and hated asking Robert in particular. He stood outside the door to Robert’s bedroom, trying to psyche himself up to enter. It wasn’t even a favor. When their parents had given Robert the car, it was on the understanding that he would share it with Stannis. How often had that ever happened?

Stannis lifted his hand to knock and then put it down again.

And what were his parents thinking?! Especially after Robert’s car crash last year, a car crash that was almost certainly exacerbated by the use of alcohol, even if Robert denied it. Robert didn’t deserve to have any car, let alone an outlandishly expensive and customized sports car. It was ridiculous!

Stannis raised his hand once more.

It’s not like Robert would care that he wasn’t at the game. Everybody else would be at the game. Certainly their parents. He had gone to a billion of Robert’s football games, even though he despised the sport, and Robert had never once thanked him. Was it so selfish, just this once, to want to do his own thing?

Stannis started to knock and then froze.

It was selfish. It was the biggest game of the season, against King’s Landing Public, only their biggest rivals. He should just go to the game and sit with his parents and suck it up. Except, that didn’t address the problem with Melisandre.

Things had been going great with Melisandre. And after that first joke date where they’d dragged Davos to a documentary (which Stannis had highly enjoyed) that Davos hated, and pretended to play footsy to embarrass him, things had sort of settled back into their prior, comfortable routine. Having Melisandre as a girlfriend was a lot like having Melisandre as a friend, it turned out. Except he walked her to class sometimes and occasionally got to kiss her.

But then he’d woken up in Melisandre’s bed the night after Hollow Hill with a splitting headache. And then he’d dragged himself out of her bedroom, clearly having spent the night, only to run into Thoros. Who had not only believed him when he’d said nothing had happened but hadn’t seemed particularly concerned about anything happening in the future. Which made him think that maybe things were too comfortable. He needed to take Melisandre on a real date. A proper date. One that didn’t involve Davos.

With a deep breath, he nodded to himself and prepared to knock again.

“What are you doing?” Renly poked his head out of the game room. “I’ve been watching you for the last twenty minutes and you haven’t moved. Are you broken?”

“It hasn’t been twenty minutes,” Stannis snapped, blushing. The door opened and Robert attempted to step out, only to see Stannis standing inches away.

“What are you doing?” Robert asked.

“He’s broken,” Renly posited. “He’s frozen like this stupid television. Robert, your stupid video games have made it all wonky. You need to fix it before Brienne gets here, we’re watching Four Dothraki Weddings and a Funeral.”

“Fix it yourself,” Robert huffed. “I’m going to Cersei’s.”

“Ew, Cersei Lannister?” Renly wrinkled his nose dramatically. “That’s so gross.”

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Robert rolled his eyes. “Well, maybe not you,” he amended. “Stannis will understand when he’s older.”

“I HAVE a girlfriend,” Stannis protested. “And I will never understand why you voluntarily spend time with that harpy.”

“Are those the bird monsters with the tits?” Robert asked. Stannis sighed. 

“Speaking of my girlfriend,” he gritted his teeth. “Can I borrow your car on Saturday?”

“Why?” Robert asked suspiciously. “Are you not coming to Homecoming?” Of course he had to make things difficult out of sheer orneriness.

“Not that it’s AT ALL your business, but I want to take Melisandre on a date,” Stannis said through gritted teeth.

“Take her to Homecoming,” Robert shrugged.

“No! A real date!” Stannis snapped. “One that doesn’t involve you!”

“But involves my car,” Robert crossed his arms, leaning on the doorframe.

“Look,” Stannis slammed his hand against the wall with a thump. “I just want to take Melisandre on a drive along the cliffs at sunset and then bring her to a fancy restaurant where she can wear a nice dress and then maybe come back here and have a glass of wine in the hot tub, IS THAT A PROBLEM?”

Robert and Renly stared.

“Awwww,” Renly suddenly cooed, right as Robert punched his shoulder and shouted, “Get some!”

“You should bring her roses,” Renly clapped his hands.

“Keep some condoms in the center console just in case things heat up before dinner,” Robert advised.

“Are you going to wear your tux? Because I think you should wear your tux.”

“The passenger seat fully reclines, so that’s your best bet.”

“I’ll put a bottle of champagne to chill in the refrigerator for you, perhaps a Veuve Cliquot?”

“Don’t tell her about the hot tub after, because if she doesn’t bring a suit you can suggest skinny dipping.”

“Do you want me to make a playlist for the sound system?”

“Wait, I should make the play list! You’ll just fill it with sappy love ballads, it throws the rhythm all off!”

“It was my idea, I said it first, I GET TO MAKE THE PLAY LIST!”

“Did you just try to bite me?! You little brat, I’ll cave your fucking head in!”

Robert grabbed for Renly, who went scampering down the stairs, Robert hot on his heels. Stannis blinked. Well that went well. Ish.

The next step was to call Melisandre.

“Hey,” she picked up on the second ring. Her voice sounded a little breathless and husky. Stannis wondered what she had been doing and then blushed at the inappropriate scenarios his brain immediately supplied him with.

“Hello,” he said, mouth dry. “I was wondering if you were free on Saturday for a date?”

“No, I’m busy screaming at my classmates to win a contest of physical strength governed by arbitrary rules against a group of our peers who are identical to us in every way except for their socioeconomic bracket. Then I’m going to mingle with a bunch of adults who have nothing better to do than pretend that they too are once more between the ages of fourteen and eighteen in an exercise of sad and misguided nostalgia.”

“Oh,” Stannis said, taken aback. “Would Sunday be better?”

She laughed.

“Saturday is fine, Stannis. When is Davos picking us up?”

“I’ll pick you up,” Stannis said, a trifle proudly. Robert had apparently caught Renly because he could hear screaming from downstairs, and he tried to cover the phone to mute the background noise.

“Is someone killing a cat over there?”

“No, it’s just… the television?”

“Must be quite the show. So where are we meeting Davos?”

Stannis bit his tongue. This was just more evidence that he should have done this sooner.

“Davos isn’t coming,” he tried to keep his voice neutral and not waspish. “I’m taking you on a real date, to a nice restaurant. Oh, and bring a swimsuit for later,” he added hastily. He didn’t need Robert’s sleazy ideas to pull this off. Or Renly’s, for that matter.

“Wow,” Melisandre’s voice sounded sultry. “I’m intrigued as to what later will entail.”

“Erm, yes,” Stannis said, reminding himself to turn off the sound system the moment they got back to the house. “See you soon.” He hung up, palms sweaty.

This was fine. Everything was going to be fine.


	42. Thor/Bri (Homecoming 5 of 9)

He adored Beric. He really did. He was pretty sure he’d die for him. It’s just sometimes he wanted to kill him.

Take for example, this entire miserable afternoon.

Thoros had shown up to the Homecoming football game if not excited, at the very least with an open mind and a full flask. It was an important game, and to be honest, he had been feeling guilty that he never watched Robert play. Most people seemed to agree that football was the one thing Robert was exceptional at. (Although those people had clearly never seen Robert shotgun a beer.)

And football had clearly meant a great deal to Beric. Beric always turned the radio up when they were sportscasting the professional games. They didn’t talk about it much because talking about football reminded Beric of his accident, but if Beric wanted to share part of his life with him, of course Thoros would come.

It didn’t hurt that it had gotten him out of the house. Melisandre had been trying on eight billion different outfits, each one skimpier than the last. She was clearly on a mission and his older brother instincts (weak thought they were) were flaring. Keeping his mouth shut had taken just about every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Beric had gotten good seats, in the middle of the stands around the fifty yard line. They couldn’t be quite as affectionate as they were in private, but when Beric sat down next to him and produced two bottles of beer in paper bags, Thoros got butterflies anyway.

Then, shortly before the game began, Beric stood up and waved at somebody.

“Some friends are going to sit with us, is that alright?” He said, too casually.

“Of course,” Thoros said, taken aback. Beric always seemed a little diffident with their peers. Maybe it had been naïve, but Thoros had gotten the impression that he was Beric’s primary friend. Evidently not.

Three people were making their way down the row to sit with them. The first was a tall redheaded guy with a trim beard that Thoros (who struggled to make his own come in evenly) immediately despised. He looked older than them and was wearing a thin grimace that would not have looked out of place on Stannis Baratheon. He sat down next to Beric with a mumbled greeting.

Behind him, thick brown hair blowing wildly in the wind, was Lyanna Stark. Her petite frame stiffened slightly on seeing Thoros, and then she gave him a rueful half-smile, half-shrug, as if to indicate that this spot was not of her picking. 

Which made the third, the man holding Lyanna’s hand as she edged down the aisle, Rhaegar Targaryen. He was as everybody described, silver-haired and purple-eyed. Only Thoros had pictured him… bigger? With his average height and lean build, he did not look particularly threatening. On the contrary, he seemed rather gentle. Thoros reminded himself that Lyanna and Rhaegar had broken Robert’s heart and didn’t deserve any sympathy. He scowled at them.

“Thoros, this is my friend Jon Connington,” Beric introduced Thoros politely. “Jon, this is Thoros.”

Jon Connington gave him a rather unimpressed glance.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” he drawled. Thoros reminded himself that Beric clearly liked these people, ergo he should be on his best behavior.

“How do you know Beric?” He asked politely.

“Rather the same way you do, I imagine,” Jon said disdainfully.

What. He turned to look at Beric, who was glaring daggers at Jon.

“Jon graduated last year. He’s from Stormlands,” Beric said finally through gritted teeth. “I haven’t seen him in a year, and I would say that I haven’t really known him in several. People just change so much.” This latter part added presumably for the benefit of Lyanna and Rhaegar who looked confused. From the little Beric had said of his old boyfriend, Jon had not changed at all.

“Thoros was it? I’m Rhaegar,” Rhaegar stuck out his hand. Thoros quickly prayed that Robert would not be scanning the crowd at this exact moment, and gave a quick handshake.

“I don’t remember you from last year,” Rhaegar said.

“Transfer,” Thoros answered sullenly, resenting this entire awkward situation.

“Where did you transfer from?” Rhaegar tilted his head inquisitively. 

“Pentos,” Thoros said.

“Last year or this year?” Rhaegar was doing his best. Thoros was having none of it.

“Last.”

“He’s a friend of Robert’s,” Lyanna interrupted flatly, clearly uninterested in watching Rhaegar struggle through a one sided conversation any longer.

Rhaegar arched an eyebrow, as if to suggest that didn’t really excuse Thoros’ rudeness.

Thoros toasted them and had another long drink.

“Where in Pentos did you live?” Connington glanced at him. “I’ve spent some summers there. In the Magister’s Quarter, near the gardens. Do you know it?”

Thoros wanted to make a gagging gesture. Of course he knew the richest district in the city.

“I’ve seen it. I didn’t live there,” Thoros answered.

“Well where did you live?” Connington pressed.

“Not there,” he shot Connington a glare of his own.

“Oh look, the game’s starting,” Beric said brightly. He bumped Thoros’ knee with his own, and gave him a warm smile when Thoros looked up tiredly. Ugh, that smile. He would do terrible things to see that smile.

“Did you play football?” He asked Connington reluctantly. Robert probably didn’t care if he talked to a Stormlander. Even if Connington clearly and objectively sucked.

“I did, I was on the offensive line,” Connington replied. “I made the all-district team two years in a row.” Of course he did. “Clearly you don’t play or you wouldn’t be sitting with us.”

“Thoros grew up in Essos, he doesn’t play,” Beric said. 

“Right. Somewhere in Pentos,” Connington said snidely.

“All over,” Beric shook his head. “Thoros has been just about everywhere,” he said proudly.

“What a terribly exciting life you must lead,” Connington sniffed. “Army brat?”

“Only in the spiritual sense,” Thoros bared his teeth in a warning smile. He was this close to going full holy-roller on them. Nothing killed a conversation faster than asking if they were familiar with the good word.

“His parents are missionaries for the Lord of Light,” Beric said firmly, squelching Thoros’ plans. Spoilsport. 

“Lord of Light? You sound like one of them, Beric,” Connington scoffed. “The red god you mean.”

“I meant what I said,” Beric responded coolly. “Excuse me, I’m going to get my friend and I more to drink.”

He stood and stomped off in a huff. That left Thoros, Connington, Lyanna and Rhaegar staring awkwardly at each other.

“So Rhae tells me you’re going to rush Second Sons?” Lyanna said to Connington after a pause.

“Oh look at that pass!” Connington blurted, turning to Thoros. “They’ve gained a first down for sure. Do you know how the yardage works?”

“Um no?” Thoros said, surprised at the sudden camaraderie.

“Basically the offense, led by your friend Robert—he’s number eleven, the quarterback—has four tries to get the ball ten yards. The quarterback will usually try to throw the ball down field or hand it off to a running back who will run the ball down field. The running back is Jaime Lannister—he’s usually good but he’s getting obliterated this game. I can’t think what’s wrong with our offensive line—they’re hanging him out to dry.”

Connington pointed to the field, where Robert handed the ball to Jaime who promptly got slammed by two defensive players. Jaime struggled to his feet but was looking a little the worse for the wear.

“It won’t matter of course—Robert can win the game on passing yards if he has to—it’s just a little bit of a poor show. When I was on the offensive line last year, I would have never—BLOCK HIM YOU BLOODY FOOLS!” Connington yelled as Jaime went down again. Robert pulled him to his feet and said something to the player who had missed his tackle. Evidently something less than friendly, because the player stalked off in a huff.

“Number twenty seven, who is that?” Connington frowned.

“Who’s who?” Beric appeared, with two more beers in paper bags. He seemed to have regained his sunny disposition.

“Number twenty seven on the offensive line,” Connington pointed. “Every time they try to run the ball he falls apart. It’s like he’s not even trying.”

“Number twenty seven is Boros Blount,” Beric squinted at the figure.

“That fat ass!” Connington laughed. “I can’t believe they made him first string!”

“I’m sure nobody could ever replace you,” Beric snorted sarcastically.

“Oh shut up, Lightning Lord. Don’t tell me you find the wide receivers impressive,” Connington japed. “Tarly can’t run and Reed can’t catch. They’re the perfect pair.”

“I think Howland has a bright future,” Beric disagreed stubbornly. Thoros knew that meant he agreed with Connington’s assessment, but liked Howland Reed too much to say so.

“They’re lucky Robert has the accuracy that he does,” Connington said disinterestedly. “Oh look, Lannister got stuffed again.”

“Robert looks annoyed,” Thoros finally ventured. That might have been an understatement. Robert had taken off his helmet and was poking Trant in the chest. A referee came over and said something and Robert threw his helmet down and stormed off. The referee blew his whistle.

“Yellow card for Robert,” Connington smirked. “He hasn’t changed much. Last year he was famous for his temper tantrums on the field. And off the field.”

Thoros wondered if he realized how uncomfortable he was making Lyanna. Something told him that maybe Connington did. At any rate, she excused herself to go to the ladies. Thoros cracked his second beer.

“Can you not, Jon?” Rhaegar asked, shooting an irritated look at Connington.

“Not what? He’s the fucking quarterback and we’re at a football game. It’s not my fault she cheated on the bastard. Are we not supposed to watch the game either to spare her feelings?”

“You said you would give her another chance,” Rhaegar said quietly.

“I just think you deserve someone better,” Connington replied heatedly. “Seven hells, at least Elia wasn’t using you as an escape from a drunken lout.”

“It wasn’t like that!” Rhaegar hissed, and then abruptly realized he had an audience. “I’m going to check on Lyanna.” He marched off, leaving the three of them. Great. 

“She’s the worst,” Connington immediately turned to Beric. Beric made a non-committal noise.

“Fuck, I thought it couldn’t get worse than Elia. What does she see in her?! She’s not even that pretty,” Connington continued to brood.

Thoros noticed that Beric had made more headway on his beer than he had. Surprised, he took another swig to catch up.

“Well? You’re being awfully quiet,” Connington said to Beric restlessly. “What do you think?”

“I think... you need to get over Rhaegar,” Beric answered finally. “The sooner you move on from people who are incapable of liking you back, the better.”

Thoros felt like he had been kicked in the stomach. He wondered if the only reason Beric had broken up with Connington was because he realized that he would never get over Rhaegar. He wondered if in a different world, Connington had gotten over Rhaegar and Beric didn’t have the time of day for an Essosi transfer student with no money and no friends. He wondered if Beric thought of it that way, considered him the next best thing.

Thoros was saved from wondering by another brutal hit to Lannister in the game below. This time, however, the running back did not get up.

——-

“This is ridiculous!” Tyrion fumed, as Jaime staggered to his feet. “They should pull the entire offensive line!”

“Why does Robert keep giving him the ball?” Brienne fretted. She had never paid much attention to football before but it seemed dreadfully hard on the running back.

“If they stop trying to run the ball, the defense can focus even more on pass coverage and then the score will be even lower,” Tyrion said glumly, glancing at the 7-0 scoreboard. 

It was into the third quarter and Brienne had decided that football was far more boring than advertised. It was all tackling and punting and no scoring. The only brief moment of inadvertent excitement had been when Howland Reed, another freshman, had been sprinting toward the end zone, looking at nothing but his destination, when the ball had landed in his outstretched arms. Nobody had been more surprised than Howland. After thirty seconds of frantically bobbling it as he ran, he managed to get a hold of it in time for the game’s single scoring play.

“It’s all Blount and Trant’s fault,” Brienne shot the two a glare as the offense ceded the field. “They’re letting him get demolished on purpose.”

“I know that. You know that. Jaime knows that. I think even Robert Baratheon knows that. But who’s going to rat them out to Selmy? If Jaime complains then he’s a snitch, and so is anyone else who tries to tell the coach.”

“Jaime should just stay down. They would have to put in another running back, and then Trant and Blount would actually try to do their jobs,” Brienne twisted her hands anxiously.

“He should. But he won’t. Can you imagine Jaime throwing in the towel just because it’s the easy thing to do?” Tyrion smirked. Brienne had to smile, both at Jaime’s mulishness and the obvious affection with which Tyrion spoke of it. It was so different from Jaime’s relationship with Cersei, which always seemed fraught with an antagonistic undertone. Cersei appealed to the worst in Jaime and Tyrion appealed to the best, Brienne decided. She could see Cersei holding court behind them, surrounded by other girls. Cersei was barely paying attention to the game, even when her boyfriend and her twin brother took the field.

“Does your father not come to Jaime’s games?” Brienne asked curiously. 

Tyrion laughed.

“Father hates football. He thinks it’s a waste of time and energy. But if you ask me, his primary issue with it was that he was never any good.”

Brienne felt her lip twitch at the thought of Tywin Lannister, CEO of Lannister Corporation, as a runty second string football player. Every picture she had ever seen of him seemed to exude ruthless competence.

After yet another punt, Prep’s offense was taking the field again. Brienne dutifully raised her eyes to the game, but her mind was still on the strange family dynamics in the Lannister household. It was so different from her relationship with her father. Perhaps because it was just the two of them, she couldn’t imagine her father being anything less than fully supportive.

Her mother had died when she was young—now that she thought about it, she supposed she had that in common with the Lannister siblings. Funny that she and Jaime never spoke of it. They hadn’t needed to. They both understood the loneliness of a childhood…

There was a terrific crunch as Jaime went down yet again, buried under three defenders. Trant and Blount were snickering together, and Brienne automatically held her breath, waiting for him to get up. The defenders one by one got to their feet and jogged off, but Jaime still lay there. Winded perhaps? A blow like that and Brienne didn’t blame him.

But then the referee was running over, blowing his whistle. Now Coach Selmy was hurrying over too, and one of the trainers. Why didn’t Jaime get up?

Beside her, Tyrion clambered to his feet on the bleacher, trying to get a better view.

“Can you see him? Did he move?” Tyrion asked nervously.

“I’m sure I saw him move,” Brienne replied, knowing that she hadn’t. The trainer stood up and made a gesture, and now more people were running with a stretcher. She was standing too, grabbing Tyrion’s shoulder.

“Is he okay?!”

“Come on, let’s go,” Tyrion jumped down and started hurrying for the field. Brienne didn’t stop to consider whether it was her place. She knew where she belonged, and it was at Jaime’s side.

They were lifting him into an emergency medical services vehicle, and she could see him, face ashen, eyes scared. There was a moment though, when he saw her and their eyes met, that he gave a brief reassuring smile. Then the doors were shutting in her face.

“What’s going on? I’m his brother, where are you taking him?” Tyrion demanded, catching the arm of an orderly.

“Crone’s Mercy Hospital, if you’re family they’ll let you see him there, just give him your name.” The man brushed Tyrion aside and climbed in the passenger seat. The van took off, its little siren bleeping in alarm as it left the field.

“Come on, I’ll drive you,” Brienne jumped in, sensing Tyrion’s fury at the abrupt dismissal. 

“Thanks Brienne,” Tyrion said, his voice trembling.

“He’s okay—he saw me and smiled at me,” Brienne promised.

“I should call father,” Tyrion mumbled, pulling out his cell phone. They found her car without difficulty, and Brienne silently thanked the gods that she had parked close to the exit.

“Father? It’s Tyrion—I’m sorry but it’s an emergency. It’s Jaime. He got hurt during the game—Crone’s Mercy Hospital. I don’t know, they wouldn’t tell us. I’m on my way there. He was conscious—I couldn’t really see. Of course, I’ll let you know,” Tyrion was saying on the phone.

Brienne tried not to think about how just days ago, she had been driving Jaime in a race to help Tyrion. The stakes had felt so large then. Now, she drove with only the dull sense of foreboding that Jaime was beyond her help.


	43. Melisandre (Homecoming 6 of 9)

Melisandre checked her watch for the fifteenth time as she peered up the street from her apartment building. Stannis was late. Stannis was never late. You could set your clock by him. 

She was wearing a short red skirt and knee socks, and the change from her normal attire had her uncharacteristically fidgety. But still, tonight could be the night, and it was imperative that she add an extra layer of sex appeal. 

She checked her cell phone, but of course there was no text. Stannis was meticulous about traffic safety. He wouldn’t text while driving. 

What if he had been in an accident? What if he had seen an accident, and stopped to help? She quieted these thoughts impatiently. She was just... nervous. This was their first real date. They seemed to have put the cart before the horse somehow, having made it to the boyfriend girlfriend stage without ever having gone on a real date. 

She hadn’t even realized that before he asked her. Everything had been going so impossibly perfectly well. She’d been floating on a cloud of endorphins since she had woken up the morning after Thoros’ birthday to discover how ridiculously cute Stannis looked curled up at the foot of her bed. He had refused to get under the covers with her to protect her honor. She’d wanted to kiss his too-serious face and drag him into sin with her. Not that it would have worked. He was incorruptible, her Stannis. 

That was partly what made tonight so exciting. If he was making the effort to take them out on a real date, might he have more ambitious plans for the evening? Melisandre practically purred at the thought of finally getting past first base. If only he would show up.

She was seriously considering calling Davos and asking if he had Stannis’ password for a little find my phone sleuthing when a certain midnight blue Bugatti rounded the corner. With agonizing slowness and a disconcerting grinding noise it pulled to a halt in front of her. 

Melisandre smoothed her red mini skirt and tried to look casual and not like she’d been contemplating cyber crimes. Stannis got out of the car. 

“You look beautiful,” he swallowed, eyeing her outfit, and presented her with a bouquet of peonies. She smiled at him, and inhaled deeply. They didn’t have these in Essos, but they were gorgeous. 

“You aren’t so bad yourself,” she leaned up and kissed him lightly. That was an understatement. He was wearing a white shirt under a navy sports jacket that made his eyes look unusually and intensely blue. She could drown in those eyes, she thought, and die happy. 

“May I?” He opened the passenger door for her. 

She smiled and slid in, enjoying how his eyes slid down to admire her figure and then how he blushed almost immediately. 

He gently shut the door after her and hurried round again. He sat down. Took a deep breath and stared at the stick shift. 

“Is everything okay?” Melisandre asked tentatively. He shot a quick nervous smile at her. 

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” 

He put it into first with a terrible grinding noise and then hastily hit the accelerator. The car stalled. They had gone four inches. Stannis took a deep breath and then took his foot off the clutch and slowly accelerated again. Another grinding noise, but at least this time they successfully transitioned into first gear. 

Melisandre sneezed, and noticed as she fumbled for a tissue that his grip on the steering wheel was white. 

“Where are we going?” She asked to lighten the mood. 

“Crossroads,” Stannis said with quiet pride. Melisandre raised her eyebrow. It was the hottest new restaurant in greater King’s Landing—a farm to table tasting menu in a gorgeous converted tavern overlooking the ocean. 

“How did you even get a reservation?” Melisandre blurted. She suddenly felt worried about her mini skirt. She had been going for sexy schoolgirl, maybe she should have gone more formal. 

Stannis opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a car behind them laying on the horn. 

Melisandre looked back at the cars stacking up and bit her tongue. They were going twenty in a forty-five mile per hour zone. Stannis tried to increase the speed, only to get another grinding noise. 

“I think... it has to be in second gear,” Melisandre ventured. Stannis looked at the transmission like it was a venomous animal. 

“I don’t suppose you drive stick?” Stannis asked dully. 

Melisandre sneezed violently in response. “I was too young to get my license when we were in Essos,” she eventually managed. Most of the cars in Essos were manual transmission. Not the case in Westeros. 

Stannis pressed the clutch and tried to shift gears. The entire car began to shake. Melisandre quickly caught his hand. 

“Don’t worry, they can just pass us once we get to the highway,” she said reassuringly. It never hurt anyone to go a little slowly. 

Stannis gave her a wan smile. 

Conversation was a little stilted as they drove out of the city. It was hard to talk over the car horns, and Melisandre’s eyes were burning terribly. Had this been a convertible, she would have thought she’d gotten dust in them. 

At least once they got on the highway along the cliffs and the cars could pass them, Stannis relaxed slightly. 

“This used to be called Shipbreaker’s Bay,” he said, gesturing to the vista in front of them. “You can see how shallow the water is in parts, how the rocks stick up. Archaeologists are always finding some new wreck to study.” 

“Mmm,” Melisandre managed, before she had to sneeze again. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with a cold. She really just wanted to get to a ladies room and dab some cold water on her eyes. 

“Are you okay, you’ve been kind of—yikes, Melisandre, there’s something wrong with your eyes!” Stannis looked over and flinched. “I think you’re having an allergic reaction.” 

Melisandre leaned over to check her reflection in the side view mirror. She winced. Her eyes did look really red and puffy. She sneezed again. Why was her body betraying her like this?!

Stannis glanced at the bouquet in her lap. 

“Are you maybe allergic to peonies?” He guessed. 

Oh. Melisandre looked blankly at the beautiful flowers. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Nobody’s ever given me peonies before.” 

Stannis’ jaw worked. 

“Right,” he said at last. “Throw them out the window.” 

“But they’re so pretty!” Melisandre clutched the flowers and then let out a violent sneeze. 

“Throw them out the window, you’re dying. I should have gotten you roses,” Stannis muttered. 

Melisandre wanted to protest further, but noticed that her eye makeup had started to smudge. She looked like a red raccoon. With a disconsolate sigh, she rolled down the window, removed the ribbon holding the flowers together and tossed them free. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, wanting to apologize for both the lost bouquet and the puffy phlegmy mess that she had become. She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I thought they were gorgeous.” 

He tentatively stroked her hair. 

“What are you sorry for? I’m the one who poisoned you!” 

Melisandre was saved from having to answer when they pulled into the Crossroads. 

The valet opened her door this time, and his lingering gaze didn’t cheer her as Stannis’ had. It only confirmed that she was wearing the wrong outfit. 

She got out, and was momentarily consoled when Stannis offered his arm. The consummate gentleman. He didn’t see that her skirt was all wrong, or that her mascara was streaking. He only saw her. 

“Sir, you are forty minutes late for your reservation. We have had to give away the table,” the host sniffed in his snooty Lysene accent. 

“The drive took longer than anticipated,” Stannis ground out, trying to be polite. Melisandre saw them as this host saw them, two high schoolers, the girl red eyed with a too-short skirt. She knew they wouldn’t get the table. 

“Do you know who my friend is?” Melisandre cooed in Lysene Low Valerian. The host looked taken aback. 

“Our reservation policy does not allow for exceptions,” he began to answer in Lysene. 

“His family owns Stormsend Shipping,” Melisandre answered, looking bored. 

The host twitched a little at that, looked at Stannis again suspiciously. Let him look, Stannis was incontrovertibly a Baratheon. 

“As I said, we have given away your table. But perhaps you would be open to eating at the bar?” The host switched back to Common, giving a strained obsequious smile. 

Stannis still looks annoyed, but Melisandre tossed her head. 

“That would be lovely.” 

“What did you say to him?” Stannis muttered as they were led to the bar. 

“That your family owned Stormsend Shipping,” Melisandre shrugged. 

Stannis stiffened. 

“What’s wrong?” Melisandre frowned, sliding into her seat. 

“We only got seated because of my family,” Stannis answered testily, lingering by his chair as if had become tainted. 

“So?” 

“So? We were forty minutes late. If their policy is to give tables away, that’s the policy. I shouldn’t be trading on my family name to get preferential treatment.” 

“You didn’t trade on your family name, I did,” Melisandre said flippantly to conceal the sinking pit in her stomach. 

Stannis still hesitated, looking between his chair and her. 

“You don’t want to eat here do you,” Melisandre stated flatly. 

Stannis shook his head. 

Melisandre glanced sadly at the elaborate plates being whisked by. 

“Well let’s head back to the city and grab a slice,” she said. The line of tension in his shoulders eased, and she felt an irrational surge of fondness for him. What the heck, the sooner they ate and got back to his place, the sooner they could get to the good stuff. 

The Lysene host rolled his eyes when Stannis announced his intention to leave. Melisandre hated him and his awful pencil of a mustache. 

“I thought...” Stannis began as they got back into the car. “I thought we might ride out to the look out point at the end of the harbor. The sunset is beautiful there.” 

Melisandre no longer felt like her eyes were going to burn out of their sockets, although she was quite hungry. And excited to see Stannis’ bedroom. Still, she tried to remain optimistic. 

“As long as it’s not too far out of the way,” she responded. “I have been accused of getting hangry.” By Thoros. Family was overrated. 

“Odd. You’re normally so placid,” Stannis said. Melisandre shot him a look and caught the teensiest smirk. 

“Was that sarcasm?!” She gasped in mock disbelief. “Who are you? I demand to be let out of the car immediately!” 

“I make jokes,” Stannis scoffed. Whether it was relief that the car was already in gear or that some part of the date was finally going according to plan, he seemed almost giddy. Worth it.

“Since when?” Melisandre teased. 

“Like when I told you and Davos that Cressen gave me a good grade last year because I brought him hazelnut coffee cake every day.” 

“Wait what?! We thought you were serious! We’ve been taking turns getting it during study hall from the bakery across the street!” Melisandre’s jaw dropped. 

“I know,” Stannis laughed. 

“He probably thinks we’re total weirdos! Do you know how much money I’ve dropped on hazelnut coffee cake?! I think the cashier thinks I have a crush on him!” 

“Just consider it a valuable lesson that there are no shortcuts to a better education,” Stannis patted her hand. 

“I liked it better when you didn’t joke! No more jokes!” Melisandre huffed and looked out the window. 

The drive was at least thirty minutes out of the way, but she had to concede that the views were spectacular. There were storm clouds rolling in, and they chased the setting sun across the horizon like so many enormous black dogs, tangerine light spilling from every rent in the darkness. 

“I love it,” Melisandre breathed. 

“Me too,” Stannis said, and she knew he was looking at her and not the view. It was her turn to blush, and she felt at a loss for words.

“C’mon, lets get out and look,” he said after a minute, when it became clear she wasn’t going to say anything, and then they leaned against the hood of the car, her head on his shoulder and his arm around her waist, as the sun blazed out in one last flare of glory. 

It was a perfect moment, broken only when the rumble of thunder signified that the storm had well and truly arrived. 

“We’d better get into the car,” Melisandre laughed. 

“One second,” Stannis said, voice stern. She turned to look at him. He put a hand under her chin and gently kissed her. It was sweet and made all the sweeter when she realized how rarely he made the first move. 

The first drops of water were hitting the pavement around them when he broke the kiss. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” Stannis admitted shyly. 

“I’m glad you did,” Melisandre gave him a tiny smile. They got into the car, and she thought this night had just taken a marked turn for the wonderful. 

Stannis turned the car on, pulled the clutch, then put the car into first gear. He tried to step on the accelerator and the car stalled. 

With a grunt he repeated the process. 

Nothing. 

He turned off the car completely, and then gave the car a second. This time, when he turned the ignition, the engine didn’t start at all. 

Another crack of thunder boomed, lightning briefly illuminating the sky, and the rain started coming down harder. Stannis swallowed and Melisandre knew the car was dead.


	44. Beric (Homecoming 7 of 9)

Beric thought he knew all of Thoros’ moods. He knew happy, drunk, belligerent, excited, sleepy, drunk, nervous, horny, bored, drunk, and all the thousands of permutations thereof. What he didn’t know was quiet Thoros.

Once Lannister had been pulled from the game and Selmy had benched Blount and Trant, the team seemed to pull together. The score went from 7-0 at the end of the third to 28-0 at the end of the game.

Alumni immediately swarmed the field, all pushing to congratulate the team and its star quarterback. Needless to say, their group was not in that camp.

Jon suggested a swanky wine bar that his family owned a minority stake in and would let them drink for free. Rhaegar and Lyanna were amenable and as Thoros was currently mute, Beric had no recourse but to agree when Jon asked him to drive.

“So Beric, where are you applying to college?” Jon asked. He had somehow managed to wedge himself between Rhaegar and Lyanna in the back. Thoros was riding shotgun, head lolling against the window.

“I’m deferring a year because I missed a lot of credits last spring. My parents have been pushing the Citadel,” Beric answered.

“Well don’t underestimate Sunspear. If you want to go to law school, they have some fabulous pro bono opportunities,” Jon lectured, as if he were the foremost authority on undergraduate degrees.

“Rhaegar’s thinking a history political science double major, right?”

“With a minor in classical music,” Rhaegar smiled.

“I still think you’re overloading yourself. College is supposed to be fun!” Lyanna mock scolded.

“Thoros, where are you looking?” Jon interrupted the moment brusquely.

“Not going to college. Don’t have the money,” Thoros said in a flat voice.

“I’m sure if your parents can afford Prep, they can afford—“

“My temple offers scholarships through grade school. There aren’t any for university,” Thoros cut him off.

“You know, my father instituted a student loan program in his first term as mayor that has seen tremendous success,” Rhaegar offered. “You might consider looking into that.”

“I don’t think I really have the grades to justify taking out a loan,” Thoros responded. He flicked his hood up and settled deeper into the front seat.

“Where are you looking Lyanna?” Beric jumped in to divert the conversation.

“Oh Sunspear for sure,” Lyanna shot Rhaegar a smile around Jon’s crossed arms.

“Not Winterfell?” Jon harrumphed. “Your family has gone there for five generations. You have buildings named after you!”

“I mean, Brandon’s already there. Ned wants to go there or the Aerie. Benjen wants to go there or Castle Black. I guess I’d like to try something different. Be somebody other than a Stark.” Lyanna stared wistfully out the window. It had started to rain.

“You’ll love Sunspear,” Rhaegar promised her, voice low.

“It’ll beat dating long distance, that’s for sure,” Lyanna laughed. “Poor Rhae barely has a life between all of his classes and spending his weekends with me.” Thoros twisted to look at her blankly. He looked like he was about to say something, but then they were at their destination.

Beric parked the car and they hurried in to avoid getting soaked.

“So Ned’s thinking the Aerie?” Jon turned to glance at Lyanna. Beric had a prickling feeling that something nasty was going to come out of his mouth. “Isn’t that where Robert’s going?”

“What kind of bottle were you thinking?” He pulled the wine menu from the bar and waved it under Jon’s nose to distract him. Jon was a budding oenophile and could never resist the opportunity to show off.

“Definitely a nice red to stave off the bad weather, what do you all think?” Jon tossed the question to the group but only looked at a Rhaegar for an acquiescent smile.

“You know, they have a great Petite Syrah from this vineyard in the Arbor that Rhaegar and I visited between junior and senior year. Remember Lyanna?”

Lyanna clenched her fists.

“That was Elia Martell and you know it,” she growled.

“Oh you’re right, I’m so sorry,” Jon apologized smoothly. “Waiter? We’ll have the Redwyne Petite Syrah, the oldest bottle you have. You can put it on my family’s tab.”

“Have you been to the Arbor, Thoros?” Rhaegar asked, noticing that Thoros seemed to be focused on the menu.

“No,” Thoros lifted his eyes up briefly. 

“Do you like wine? It supposedly has the best grapes in the world,” Jon said politely enough. Beric had been prepared for various doomsday scenarios, but Jon had been perfectly pleasant to Thoros. Well, pleasant for him. It was Lyanna who should be miserable, but she had snuggled up to Rhaegar and was sitting there with the grim determination of someone willing to wait it out.

“I like wine. I mostly drink rum and beer,” Thoros glanced at Jon. He wasn’t being surly exactly, but the lazy good humor or the boisterous energy that normally characterized his behavior were missing entirely.

“Well spend enough time with Beric and he’ll have you drinking nothing but Merlot! Remember that time at that Lysene place, Beric?” Jon laughed and Beric spared him the flicker of a smile before his gaze returned to his not-quite-but-hopefully-soon-to-be-boyfriend. 

The waiter returned with the wine and poured everyone generous glasses.

“How’s your father dealing with the fallout of the Lannister Corp scandal?” Lyanna asked Rhaegar idly. Rhaegar winced. 

“He’s taken it rather well,” Rhaegar muttered.

Thoros’ phone rang and he excused himself to answer it, snagging his glass of wine for the road.

Rhaegar and Lyanna were continuing to discuss politics and Jon was continuing to make aggressive inroads on his wine, but Beric was looking out the window, where Thoros was leaned against the glass to stay under the bar’s overhang and out of the rain. It really was coming down now.

“I’ll be right back,” Beric said to the group, and headed to the door.

“Mel’s gotten herself stuck at Lookout Point on Shipbreaker Bay. She says Stannis’ car stalled and now it won’t turn on. I’m sure I can get it going for them. Do you mind if I borrow your car? I’ll come right back,” Thoros said, looking at the ground.

“It’s at least forty minutes out there and back. I’ll drive. You could use the company and I don’t trust you driving my car,” Beric tried to joke. It fell flat.

“You should stay with your friends. That’s who you belong with,” Thoros said. Beric raised his eyebrows.

“I belong with you. Is this about springing them on you? I’m really sorry, I know I handled that—“

“No it’s not that,” Thoros shook his head. “I mean not really that. Although yeah, that was weird.”

Beric frowned.

“Is this about Jon being a prick at the game? I’m sorry, he doesn’t like new people and gets all prickly protective. He actually warmed up to you surprisingly quick—“

“You couldn’t have told me that he has red hair?” Thoros said tiredly.

“Jon? I dunno it didn’t seem relevant.”

“He even has a better beard.”

“I like your beard!” Beric protested. Was he just jealous? He seemed too sad to be jealous. “I dumped him you know. Almost two years ago! We didn’t have all that much in common.”

“I’m like the Essosi knock off version. Shorter and less beardy, but much cheaper,” Thoros japed in a way that didn’t seem particularly like a jape.

“You’re being absurd,” Beric told him. He wished they weren’t standing in front of an enormous plate glass window or he would kiss him. He settled for slinging an arm over his shoulder.

“Are you seriously worried I don’t find you attractive?” He mumbled into Thoros’ hair. “I’ll spend all night proving you wrong.” Thoros briefly leaned in but then disentangled himself.

“It’s not Jon either,” Thoros said. “I just don’t fit in with them. And every minute I spend there, they’re wondering why you bother to hang out with me. I’m starting to wonder the same.”

“What?” Beric asked confused.

“I’m not from Stormlands, my father’s not the mayor, I don’t have buildings named after me at Winterfell,” Thoros crossed his arms. “I don’t drink fancy wines or stay at bed and breakfasts in the Arbor. I’ve never lived in the right neighborhood. I’m not even going to college.” He tried to smile but it was a twisted thing. “I’m in a fucking cult Beric. You’ll never be able to bring me home to your parents.”

“I don’t care about that!” Beric pushed his hair back, trying to think how to explain it. “I’ve spent my entire life in the right neighborhood and I was never happy until I met you. And in case you haven’t noticed, I can’t bring anyone home to my parents, so let’s cross that bridge when we get to it. Together.”

Thoros sighed. 

“It’s easy to say that now, Beric,” he pointed out gently. “What happens when you have to move away for college? Do you really want to spend your college years dating someone long-distance who’s just dragging you down? You heard Lyanna, Rhaegar barely has a life. You can’t tell me you want that for yourself.”

“Everything okay?” Jon poked his head out. 

“It’s fine,” Beric started.

“Great, then stop leaving me with them! It’s like your only job Beric,” Jon rolled his eyes. 

“So about that…” Beric cleared his throat. “Thoros’ sister is having car trouble, and I need to give him a ride to Lookout Point.”

Jon stared, the horror of being left alone with Rhaegar and Lyanna seemingly having robbed him of speech.

“I’ll come with you,” he announced finally.

“What?! No,” Beric scowled, dismayed at the idea of putting his conversation with Thoros on hold. This was the last thing that Thoros needed to have rattling around his brain.

“What’s going on?” Rhaegar appeared, Lyanna in tow.

“Beric and Thoros need to drive out to Lookout Point. I’ll hitch a ride with them, Beric can drop me off after,” Jon said to Rhaegar, determinedly avoiding Lyanna.

“That’s silly, my car’s at your house, Jon,” Rhaegar pointed out. “We’ll all go.”

Beric wanted to bang his head against the wall. Lyanna looked similarly mutinous.

“I don’t think this is a good idea…” she started.

“We can always drop Lyanna off back at the high school. She can get a ride with Ned,” Jon interjected with faux helpfulness.

“No it’s fine, we’ll all go,” Lyanna took Rhaegar’s arm slightly possessively and smiled at Jon like she might rip his throat out with her teeth. Beric silently thanked the gods that Rhaegar and Jon were going back to Sunspear at the end of the weekend. Thoros had, of course, not said a word. Beric decided that quiet Thoros was his least favorite Thoros.

This time, Lyanna managed to claim the middle seat before Jon had even reached the car. He retaliated by taking shotgun. That left Rhaegar behind Beric and Thoros behind Jon. Beric glanced in the rear view mirror nervously. Thoros had put his hood up again and was looking out the window.

The drive should have taken forty minutes, but was punctuated by intense cloud bursts where Beric had to crawl, the visibility was so poor.

Finally, they got to Lookout Point. There wasn’t really a question of where Melisandre was. There was exactly one car parked, an all-too-familiar midnight blue Bugatti.

“Isn’t that…” Jon began.

“Yes,” Lyanna said through gritted teeth. “Thoros’ sister is dating Stannis Baratheon, Robert’s younger brother.”

“Remember when Robert crashed his Porsche?” Jon laughed.

“Yes, I was in it at the time.”

Rhaegar entwined his fingers with hers.

“I can’t believe his parents upgraded him. You didn’t see Beric’s parents running out to buy him a new motorcycle—”

Thoros jumped out and slammed the door so hard the frame rattled, hurrying through the rain. 

Beric could see the driver side door open and Stannis get out. He was gesturing inside, pointing at something. Thoros reached in and popped the hood. Both walked to the front of the car. Stannis had produced a flashlight and was holding it as Thoros leaned in. Whatever he was doing didn’t take very long. Thoros got in to the driver’s seat and started the car. It immediately came alive.

Great, that was completely painless. They could drop off the world’s most dysfunctional threesome and—Thoros got out and flipped the seat back for Stannis who climbed in. Thoros then sat back down at the wheel, shut the door, and started to pull around.

Seven hells, was he serious with this?!

Beric reversed hard so he was blocking their exit.

“Woah!” Jon yelped, grabbing for the handle above the passenger door. Beric ignored him.

The Bugatti screeched to a stop. Beric got out and marched over to the car, making a window-down gesture with his hand. He had not been prepared for a monsoon, and the rain was already soaking him through, plastering his hair against his forehead. Thoros looked sulky but complied with Beric’s request.

“Where are you going?!” Beric snapped.

“They can’t drive stick. I’m driving the car back so it doesn’t stall again. Go hang out with your friends, we’ll catch up later, yeah?” Thoros said, still not really meeting his gaze.

“This is ridiculous. Stannis, scoot over, I’ll ride back with you.”

“There’s no room,” Stannis stuck his head out from the back. Beric took a skeptical peek back, but was forced to concede that he might be right. The already tight quarters were further packed with textbooks, empty bottles and a golf bag. Robert didn’t even play golf.

“Alright, you and Melisandre drive my car back. Thoros and I will take this one.”

“I’m not riding with Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark,” Stannis sneered, casting a spiteful look at Beric’s car. Rhaegar had rolled down the window and was peering out curiously. Lyanna stuck out her tongue.

Beric seriously considered murdering all six of them and fleeing for Hardhome in the Bugatti.

“Beric, it’s fine,” Thoros put the car in reverse and started to back up to go around. “I’ll see you later.” It wasn’t fine. But what was he supposed to do, dive in front of the car?! 

Thoros carefully pulled around Beric’s car and Beric watched the Bugatti vanish down the road. Leaving him standing in the parking lot. In the rain. Fuck.


	45. Stannis (Homecoming 8 of 9)

Stannis had planned this date with the painstaking meticulousness of a general preparing to lay siege. He had made the reservation at Crossroads a month ago, long before he had ever broached the plan with Melisandre. Every step since then had been carefully executed, every eventuality planned for.

How had things gone so terribly awry? 

For example, at no point had his battle plan called for Melisandre’s brother to act as chauffeur while he languished in the back with Robert’s grotty gym clothes. 

“I can’t believe he never taught you how to drive stick,” Melisandre grumbled, as she had several times while they were waiting for their erstwhile search and rescue. 

“Thoros never taught you how to drive stick,” Stannis pointed out. 

“I was thirteen the last time that knowledge was relevant!” She hissed. 

“I just assumed it would be easier to pick up on the fly,” Stannis admitted. A rare tactical error. But honestly, if Robert had been able to teach himself, how hard could it be? 

The second tactical error, he was prepared to admit, had been refusing to get roses because Renly had suggested it. He had been so determined to do this entirely without his brothers’ help, that he had actually called the florist and changed his order from roses to peonies lest Renly think he had any input over Stannis’ dating life. 

Melisandre’s stomach growled and she shifted in her seat impatiently. 

“Doesn’t this thing go any faster? It’s a sports car, for fuck’s sake Thoros, how are we still going the speed limit.” 

“Please obey the speed limit,” Stannis interjected from the back. 

Thoros said nothing, but the speed of the car did not change. Thoros had been unusually quiet this trip. Stannis found he liked his girlfriend’s brother much better this way. 

When they finally pulled into the Baratheon manor, Stannis was relieved to see that his parents’ car was not there. The football game was long over, but presumably they had taken Robert and Renly out to dinner to celebrate the inevitable victory. 

“Right, I’ve got the number of a pizza place that delivers. I’m getting an extra large with pepperoni, sausage, bell peppers and onions. Did you want anything?” Melisandre asked him bluntly. 

“A small margherita?” Stannis ventured. Melisandre nodded stoically and disappeared into the house. 

The front seat flipped open and Stannis was able to extricate himself. He looked awkwardly at Thoros, who looked bored. 

“Uh can you not tell Robert that I stalled the car in the middle of nowhere, and then flooded the engine with gas and then couldn’t start the car because I was turning the key too far?” 

“If you don’t tell Robert I showed up with Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark in tow.” 

That seemed like a fair trade. Still. Something seemed... off. It wasn’t Stannis’ business. He really shouldn’t pry. 

“Are you feeling okay?” He finally asked. 

“Just tired,” Thoros said quickly. “I’m going to go catch a bus home.” 

“Right,” Stannis said. 

“Right,” Thoros nodded and turned to go. “Um, I would try not to upset her until she’s eaten something,” he suddenly added. And then with a backwards wave he walked off. 

Stannis took a deep breath and prepared to enter the house. 

Melisandre was sitting on the kitchen counter, her legs swinging. Stannis tried to ignore how high up her skirt was hiking, how one of her white knee socks was coming down. Instead he focused on her eyes which were crackling with barely repressed irritation. 

“Did you know,” she began. “That there is nothing in your refrigerator except for champagne? I counted two dozen different types. I also found an entire unopened carton of ice cream in the garbage. Now melted of course.” 

Ugh, Renly. 

“How long before the pizza gets here?” Stannis said. 

“Due to the heavy rain, demand is higher than anticipated. Estimated wait time is an hour,” Melisandre pursed her lips, a single wrinkle appearing across her smooth forehead. Stannis gulped. 

“I thought we’d sit in the hot tub for a while after dinner and have a glass of wine. I assure you, this storm was not predicted by any of the forecasts.” 

“Well we can have the wine at least,” Melisandre glanced at the refrigerator glumly. 

Stannis hurried to open a bottle to distract her. He grabbed the first one his hand found, fumbling to get it open and improve her mood. 

The cork was tight, and it didn’t immediately give way. After a second or two of wrestling, he snuck a peek at Melisandre. She looked distinctly unimpressed. 

With a bubble of panic, Stannis set to work harder, putting the bottle under one arm and wrenching at the cork with the other. Abruptly it gave with a huge pop and the bottle shot out the other direction, shattering against the floor in an explosion of glass and champagne. 

Stannis stared down at his feet dumbly. 

“Don’t worry,” Melisandre raised an eyebrow. “You have twenty-three more tries.” 

The second bottle thankfully opened without a hitch and he filled her flute to the brim. 

“Cheers,” she said, and took a long drink. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. 

“Sorry? For what?” 

“This date’s been a disaster from start to finish,” Stannis sighed. He brought the bottle back toward her perch to top her off. 

Melisandre’s face softened and the frown disappeared. 

“I didn’t think watching the sunset with you was a disaster,” she said. 

“No that part was fine,” Stannis admitted. “That twenty minute window in an otherwise disastrous date.” 

He finished pouring and set the bottle down. Melisandre hooked her legs around him and pulled him in closer. 

“Only fine?” She inquired smugly. 

Stannis was keenly aware that he standing literally between her legs, that he could see the peek of silk underwear. 

“Better than fine. Amazing. Incredible. Incandescent,” he heard himself babbling. 

“I like incandescent,” Melisandre purred, and leaned down from the counter to kiss him again. Stannis finally got to slide his hand up her leg, something he’d been wanting to do since he had first seen her in this damn skirt. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Melisandre finally broke the kiss. 

“Oh?” Said Stannis, who had not been. 

“What if we were doing the date wrong?” 

“Well of course we did the date wrong, you’re not supposed to poison your date with the bouquet!” 

“No I mean—it was all very grand and romantic and I loved it but it wasn’t very us. No supply closets, no dive bar kitchens...” 

“That doesn’t have to be us!” Stannis protested. Honestly, he could think of at least three health code violations they had committed with that last one. He blamed the vodka shots. 

“Not the places, just the spontaneity and the fun and the excitement!” Melisandre beamed at him. Stannis swallowed. Maybe those things were ‘us’ but they certainly weren’t him. Plus she was toying with the buttons on his shirt in a manner he found very distracting.

“Err what did you have in mind?”

“Forget the rain. Let’s take the rest of this champagne and sit in the hot tub anyway. Isn’t the whole point to get wet? We don’t need things to be perfect to have a good time.”

Oh. That didn’t sound so bad.

“Let me just change into my bikini,” Melisandre winked.

Actually, that sounded great.

“The nearest bathroom is down that hall to your right,” he pointed. “I’m just going to run upstairs and grab my trunks.”

“I’ll see you in the hot tub,” Melisandre smirked. “And I’m taking this with me.” She grabbed the bottle.

Stannis had never made it up to his room and changed so quickly. There was a weird crashing and then a scurrying noise when he came up the stairs, but he would have to check that out later. He came back down, taking the steps two at a time. 

It was still pouring when Stannis stepped back outside, his hair immediately plastering to his forehead. No matter. 

Had he thought Melisandre in knee socks and a mini skirt was gorgeous? It was nothing compared to Melisandre in a bikini, hair already wet and floating around her in the hot tub like a red halo. 

“Hey,” he said, and his voice came out huskier than he meant to. 

“Hey,” she raised her head, her hair falling back like a curtain around her. In the softly strobing lights, her pale skin looked ethereal. Stannis wasn’t sure she was real. 

“I see you found the light switch,” he said stupidly, for want of words to express how beautiful he found her in this moment. 

“It came on when I walked out. You must have a motion sensor,” Melisandre laughed and extended the bottle. “More champagne?” 

They did not have a motion sensor. Still, Stannis resolutely shut off that part of his brain and took the bottle from her, taking a sip as he got in. Even knowing that he had previously obtained permission from his parents to imbibe, he still felt the unfamiliar tingle of forbidden luxury. 

“You’re right, it’s not so bad out here,” Stannis breathed, watching the steam rising from the water between the droplets of rain that rippled the surface. Melisandre cuddled into his lap, wrapping his arms around her.

There was a click and then a gentle Tyroshi love song started playing from the speakers. 

“Did you cue the music up while you were upstairs? I had no idea you were so smooth!” Melisandre laughed. 

Shit. It was time to face an unpleasant reality. They were not alone. 

“You know, they say Lys is the city of love, but I always found Tyrosh more stimulating,” Melisandre breathed in his ear.

The only question was the nature and number of the enemy. 

“So what other moves do you have?” Melisandre was playing with his hair.

“You know, if the jets were on, we wouldn’t even need our swimsuits,” Stannis said loudly. There was a pause. The jets turned on. 

Definitely Robert. The switches were behind the pool cabana. 

“Uh ok, that one’s a little obvious,” Melisandre rolled her eyes at him. “If you want us to get naked, all you have to do is…” 

He raised a finger to his lips, barely hearing what she was saying. Slowly he lifted himself out of the hot tub, the sound of the jets masking his exit. Gesturing at her to stay put, he padded around the side of the house to approach the cabana from behind. 

Sure enough, in the darkness, he could see the broad-shouldered outline of Robert, braced against the wall. Balancing on his shoulders was a much smaller silhouette, currently peeking over at the hot tub. 

“Robert, the rain’s smudging my makeup!” Renly’s petulant whisper carried. 

“For the last time, it’s not makeup! It’s camo war paint! We are men!” 

“Men who wear makeup,” Renly sulked. 

“Ugh it doesn’t matter if it smudges Ren, it’s just to help us blend in with the trees.” 

“I like the way you did it before! I don’t want to mess it up!” 

“What’s the mission update?” 

“Stannis fucked off somewhere, Melisandre’s looking at her phone.” 

“Hey! Language!” 

“You say fuck all the time!” 

“Yeah but you’re a fucking kid!” 

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck—“

“Stop it! You’ll get me in trouble with Mom! Look, stop cursing and I’ll redo your camo.” 

Renly immediately stopped, and started to scramble down Robert’s back. 

“Ow! That’s my ear, not a hand hold!” 

“Stop being so loud! They’ll hear us!” Renly scolded. 

Stannis sighed. He wondered if he was adopted. With a heavy heart he trudged back to the hot tub. 

“Where’d you go?” Melisandre pouted. He crawled back in next to her, and lifted her hair like he was going to kiss her neck. Instead, he whispered into her ear. 

“Robert and Renly are spying on us from behind the pool cabana.” 

She gave a very fake giggle. 

“Tell me you’re joking,” she hissed from the side of her mouth. 

“You said no more jokes.” 

There was long silence. 

“Well the good news is that the pizza is arriving in five to ten minutes. So we may as well give them a show.” 

“Whaa—“

“Stannis stop! You’re so bad!” She squealed. 

Stannis felt his face starting to get hot. 

She had climbed on top of him, and he had a very direct view of her chest. The drips of water clinging to her bikini. The faintest shadow of her nipple through the clinging fabric. 

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were so big! Slow down, easy does it,” she was grinding her hips in a circular motion, and Stannis didn’t know where to look.

“Oh right there! Yes!” She tipped her head back. 

“Oh,” she moaned and threw him a wink. 

“Mel,” He growled. He wasn’t sure whether he was adding to her tableau or just venting his frustration at what she was putting him through, but it didn’t seem to matter. Gods he needed a cold shower. Like Shivering Sea cold. She splashed him and he splashed back. 

“Oh I’m so close baby,” Melisandre cooed. “Just a little longer.” 

Stannis closed his eyes and prayed for self-control. 

“Oh!” 

She dramatically flopped backwards into the water. 

He used the moment to discretely adjust his swim trunks. 

She popped up, a wicked little smile on her lips. 

“Was it good for you?” 

He was saved from having to answer by the sound of the pizza delivery man pulling into the driveway. Melisandre pulled herself out again and kissed him on the top of the head. 

“I’ll get it. Meet you in the kitchen?” 

Stannis nodded, still not trusting his voice. 

He waited until he was sure she was gone and then hobbled for the house. 

The situation had subsided by the time Melisandre reentered, laden with pizza boxes. 

Immediately Stannis slammed the door and pressed the home security lockdown button. Every door and window in the house and outer buildings shut with an audible click. 

Melisandre gave a soft laugh. 

“Something tells me this date just got better,” she placed the pizza boxes down. 

“Well I did just halve the number of people involved,” Stannis snorted. 

“And look,” she rested her head on his shoulder. “The rain’s stopping.” The idea that Robert and Renly might be spared a drenching didn’t sit right.

“Good call, I’ll turn on the sprinklers.” 

“Stannis?” Melisandre tilted her head, an inquisitive expression on her face.

“Yeah?” He asked absent-mindedly as he tried to remember which switch activated the sprinklers nearest to the pool. He would drive them away from the cabana, and then activate the ones in the front yard. 

“If your brothers hadn’t crashed our date, what was going to happen after dinner?”

He could imagine a sopping wet Robert squishing his way to the front door, only to find it locked. Heh.

“Um, champagne, the Jacuzzi. Kind of what we just did?”

“Without the sex?”

“Of course, I’m not Robert,” Stannis scoffed. Melisandre looked amused and oddly disappointed. 

“You know, maybe our thing isn’t spontanaeity. Maybe it’s revenge.” 

“What?” 

“Think about it. We got epic revenge on the Greyjoys. What was Sadie Hawkins but you getting revenge on me by inviting Selyse and me getting revenge on you by inviting Davos? And we only ended up in that roach pit that Hollow Hill calls a kitchen because we were taking shots to spite each other.” 

Stannis thought about it. Revenge did sound more like him than spontanaeity.


	46. Thor/Jaim (Homecoming 9 of 9)

Thoros curled deeper under his blankets, willing his brain to turn off. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his clothes or pour a night cap—he just wanted to fall asleep and forget that he was pushing away the best thing that ever happened to him.

Think calming thoughts. Sleepy thoughts. Beric dozing in the park. The way the light had dappled across his skin, face buried in the crook of his arm. Stop it. Something else.

The rain. He could hear it drumming against the window panes, the dull howl of the wind outside. The rain reminded him of falling asleep to Beric taking a shower. When he had woken, Beric had been gone and it felt like the ground had given way beneath his feet. That time it was Beric who had run away.

Stop. It wasn’t running away. He was doing the right time, the right thing for Beric and the right thing for himself. Beric didn’t need to waste the next five years of his life. He was brilliant and kind and had the kind of integrity that would carry him so fucking far. He didn’t need an anchor like Thoros holding him back.

And Thoros already felt hollowed out. A house that had been set on fire and now only the husk was left. After what, three weeks of fooling around? If Beric left him after five years, a year even, it would literally kill him.

Beric would go to college and then get a graduate degree maybe. His life would be bright and happy and that was the greatest gift Thoros could give him. 

Great gifts require great sacrifice. That was a biggie with the Lord of Light. Well are you happy now, R’hllor? Because Thoros sure wasn’t.

The buzzer sounded. Thoros sighed and sat up. He would give it another ring. Junkies usually didn’t have the attention span to stick around that long. The buzzer sounded again.

He got out of bed and shuffled to the door. Looked through the peep hole. It was Beric. Shit. Even with the fish eye distortion, he looked perfect. One hand running through his dark blond hair, ruffling it on end. Thoros wanted to smooth it, wanted to kiss his hair and then kiss Beric. Be strong. Don’t open the door. You are making this sacrifice for both of you.

“Hey,” Thoros opened the door. He was shit at sacrifices. 

“Hey,” Beric said, giving him a small tentative smile. He gave a small smile back. 

“What are you doing here?” He said gruffly. Good start. A pity his body betrayed him by opening the door wider so Beric could come in.

Beric slipped past and sat on the good couch. 

Thoros still stood by the door, completely torn as to whether he should dive into his lap or sit at the far end of the kitchen table so as to get an apartment’s worth of distance between them.

“You said I should be with my friends,” Beric answered. He tilted his head. “I am. You’re my friend, you’re my family. The one I get to choose anyway.” Thoros closes his eyes for just a moment, feeling his resolve crumble in the face of that warmth, that conviction. He tried to remember why he had ever thought this was the right thing to do. 

He walked over and sat on the couch next to Beric, though he was careful not to touch him.

“I’m really worried that this—that we—have an expiration date. And Beric, if that’s the case, then I can’t...” He trailed off, unable to come up with the words to express how devastating losing Beric would be.

“You said I wouldn’t want to date long distance,” Beric began. He was staring at him intently, searching Thoros’ face as if the right words would be written on his forehead. “You’re right. I don’t.”

Well. There it was. Thoros had come to pretty much the same conclusion, but hearing Beric say it felt like a knife to the gut.

“I want a relationship long distance.”

Thoros blinked. The words were Common Tongue, but he didn’t completely understand them. He ran them back in Valyrian. Still didn’t make sense. Beric couldn’t be saying what he thought he was saying.

“You...” he started and stopped, completely stymied.

“All this talk about what I want. Don’t I get to choose what I want?”

“Of course,” Thoros began cautiously, wondering where the trap was.

“I want you Thoros. I’ll want you when I’m in Sunspear or Winterfell or friggin Quarth.”

His certainty. Lord of Light, he was so convinced. Thoros could trust that, couldn’t he? Everything in life worth having required a little bit of faith, and Thoros could think of nobody more deserving of his faith than Beric. His mouth was dry. He swallowed.

“What about your friends?”

“After today, I think it’s safe to say I hate those people. I’d be completely happy if I never saw them again.”

Thoros had to laugh at that. Beric had a ferocious expression on his face, rather like a puppy with his hackles up.

“So?” Beric asked anxiously.

“So?” Thoros repeated blankly.

“What do you want? Do you want... a relationship with me?” Beric said hesitantly.

Thoros didn’t have Beric’s knack of saying the perfect thing. He didn’t have Beric’s exquisite emotional sensitivity, his self-assured maturity. 

He tackled him, kissed him so hard their teeth clacked together. It was clumsy and urgent and Thoros had no idea how else to express how much he wanted what Beric wanted. He had landed pretty much on top of him, but shifted his weight on to one forearm, so he could watch Beric’s face as he slid his other hand down to his jeans, working the button loose. Beric’s eye darkened and any resemblance to a puppy was replaced by something much hungrier.

Beric abruptly caught his hand, stopping him. Thoros only had a moment to feel a flicker of confusion before Beric flipped them, pinning his wrist above his head.

“I seem to recall me promising to take care of you... all night long,” Beric smirked.

“If my lord insists,” Thoros leaned up and kissed him again, sweet and teasing and so happy he could die right here on this couch. Beric’s eye fluttered closed for just a moment, and then he stood. He grabbed Thoros by the hood of his sweatshirt and dragged him backwards into his bedroom and slammed the door.

Thoros barely had time to regain his balance before Beric had pushed him against the door into a much deeper kiss. 

Finally they broke apart, both panting slightly.

“I do insist,” Beric growled and bit his collarbone playfully and then sucked and Thoros knew it was going to leave a mark. So territorial, his boyfriend.

————-

Jaime woke up with a dull sense of confusion, the lingering fatigue of a chemically induced sleep clouding his brain. How much time had passed? He remembered being on a gurney and them putting a tube in his arm and concerned eyes and surgical masks and then nothing.

Everything retained the surreal quality of a dream, and Jaime contemplated his surroundings with peculiar remoteness. 

The light was fluorescent and glinted green off the linoleum. He was in a bed, lying on his back. A private room of course. A bunch of awful hospital chairs had been pushed in, and his entire family was there asleep.

Cersei, lying stretched out across a bench and two chairs, her golden curls cascading over the seat of the last chair, a modern day sleeping beauty. She looked so gentle, so completely innocent and unguarded.

One seat down was his father. Still sitting straight, even unconscious. Head on his chest, shoulders slumped. He looked older like this. His hair was silvering, Jaime noticed. How had he never seen that before.

Next to him was Tyrion, sleeping almost against Tywin, head lolling in the crook of his elbow. They looked right like this. Like a father and his youngest son should look. If he were awake, Tywin would have shaken Tyrion off, would have claimed he was wrinkling his jacket or that he shouldn’t slouch so much.

Jaime drowsily studied his beautiful blond family, how perfect they seemed to be so long as none of them were awake to say a word. He felt as if he were looking at them through a pane of glass. An exhibit on the ties that bind us, for better and for worse. If you tied a plant, it would grow a certain way. Twisted, never knowing it should grow any different.

Then the bed shifted ever so slightly, a new element introduced to his dreamscape, and Jaime turned his head and there she was.

Brienne. Her face turned to the side, cradled in her arms. She was an angel, an absolute angel. He could count each impossibly fair eyelash, she was so close. He impulsively reached out and brushed the contour of her cheek, so convinced was he that she was some kind of mirage. If he was dreaming, she would be there after all. He would want her there, by his side.

But no shimmering product of the subconscious was so warm and almost immediately she stirred under his touch.

“Jaime!” Like dawn breaking, the light in her eyes. She blinked and shook the cobwebs of sleep from her brain. He wished he could do that too, but everything felt so out of focus.

“How long have you been awake? We should wake the others, they’ve been so—“

“No,” Jaime croaked, surprised at how dry his throat was. He wasn’t ready for the dream to end.

Brienne reached immediately for a cup of water and lifted it to his lips. He let her feed him in tiny sips. She was gentle, intent on the task. This close, he could see the faintest spray of freckles across her nose. 

“Leave them,” he whispered with a shadow of his patented roguish smile. “I like my family much better this way.”

“Are you sure?” Brienne said doubtfully. “Oh Jaime, they were so worried. Cersei was almost hysterical, and Tywin had the surgeon flown in from Qohor. He’s supposed to be the best.”

“Surgeon?” Jaime rolled the word across his tongue. It felt heavy. Unfamiliar. An ugly word. Brienne bit her lip.

“The surgeon... for your hand.”

Jaime flashed on the football game, on hearing the snap of his fingers beneath someone’s foot and then someone screaming, and then the realization that it was him. The pain blacking out every rational thought he had, being lifted and carried away, and Brienne’s round face a pale moon in the encroaching darkness. Her horrified eyes tethering him to the world.

He twisted. His right hand lay outstretched on a pillow, partially suspended. An ugly mess of wiring and scars that seemed less human and more mechanical. Flesh fused with steel. A monster’s hand. He tried to move a finger and only managed a tremor. A quiver of flesh. The steel moved not at all.

He opened his mouth and shut it. Nothing came out.

“The surgeon says you’ll make a close to full recovery. You’ll be able to write and use a fork,” Brienne said quickly, sensing the horror on his face. The realization that this was no dream at all but a nightmare.

“Football?” Jaime blurted. Brienne looked down. He tried to wet his lips. “Jujitsu?”

“I’m so sorry Jaime,” Brienne began, and Jaime had to twist his head away from her so she would not see the tears well up. Stupid. Why did he ever think that his path lay somewhere beyond his father’s shadow. 

Brienne touched his left hand. His good hand, Jaime thought with a sudden surge of bitterness. Robert Baratheon punched his hand through a plate glass window and walked away with a fucking bone bruise. He was born under a lucky star. Not Jaime Lannister. 

“I want you to know that I’m here for you,” Brienne said. Beautiful brave Brienne who had an endured an entire evening with his family to be by his side when he woke up. Even amid the anguish, he felt the sweetness of pure relief that she had not left him. “Anything you need, I’m here,” she repeated.

“Anything?” He asked dryly, and those sky blue eyes sparkled with a ferocity that he would never match. She would not let him fall.

“Anything,” she promised, squeezing his left hand. 

Maybe it was the drugs or the pain or the shell-shock of losing everything that mattered to him all at once. Or maybe it was because he had nothing to lose.

But Jaime leaned forward and kissed her. He saw her eyes widen briefly for a moment before their lips met, her impossibly soft lips that melted against his and for that moment, everything was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the wait for Jaime's POV was worth it! I know Mog in particular was worried :) On a different note, next chapter will push us past the 100k mark! Woo! In honor of that milestone, I've decided to update the story summary to sound less like a Mel/Rob romance (talk about rare pair...) and give each of our pairings a blurb. So don't be surprised if it looks a little different when I update tomorrow!


	47. Davos (The Mountain 1 of 9)

Salladhor slid the envelope, fat and bulging with paper bills, across the table to Davos. His broad grin gleamed white against his dark skin as he watched Davos heft the envelope.

“Feels heavier than normal,” Davos commented. He didn’t count the bills in front of Salladhor. Maybe eighteen or nineteen, Salladhor still felt more like a friend than a boss. He’d had Davos’ back in the past. That earned respect. Respect dictated that Davos wait until he was home to count. Respect was not the same thing as trust. 

“It is heavier than normal,” Salladhor was still smiling, like he knew the punchline to a joke that Davos hadn’t told yet.

“Why?” Davos asked bluntly.

“You are smart. Trustworthy. Don’t take too many risks. An investment in a continued friendship.”

“Was my friendship in danger of not continuing?”

“Well someone like me sees someone like you with the Baratheons—they start thinking you’d rather go legit. Someone like me prefers to start caching good will.”

Davos shrugged uncomfortably. Stannis had never spoken about after high school. A job at Stormsend Shipping would mean a lot to Davos, but he would sooner shoot himself in the foot than ask Stannis for that kind of favor.

“There are higher margins doing what I do,” Salladhor pushed.

“Higher risks too,” Davis rolled his eyes. “How does someone like you sleep at night?”

Salladhor smirked and stroked the scruff on his chin.

“Who said the nights were for sleeping?”

Davos blushed and took that as his cue to shove off. He gave a lazy wave with the envelope and then ducked out of the back room in the Iron Port bodega where Salladhor did his business. He took care not to hurry too much on the way to his truck. He had to look like a student running morning errands. 

Which he was. Just not the kind of errands that his peers at KLP would be familiar with.

His next stop was Marya’s. Thinking how much of a difference the heavier envelope would make to her put a spring in his step. He could imagine her warm brown eyes lighting up, her nose crinkling in delight. Maybe this would be the day he would muster the courage to ask her out. Nothing fancy. A milkshake at the diner. A movie.

He knocked on the door, picturing her chocolate curls bouncing as she nodded assent, too shy to actually say yes. She liked to tie her curls back with ribbons. He wondered what color it would be today. Sky blue or sunshine yellow or forest green. She liked bright happy colors. Nothing too daring.

He heard the sound of the deadbolt clicking, another lock being undone and he quickly licked his palm and tried to flatten his hair.

“Anya?!” Marya cried, swinging the door open, and Davos tried not to let the dismay twist his features, that he wasn’t who she wanted him to be.

Her curls weren’t tied back at all, and her face was slack with anxiety, eyes dancing across the surface of his face and barely registering.

“What’s wrong?” Davos stepped toward her automatically, pulling her into a hug. She sagged against him.

“It’s Anya, you know, my sister.”

Thirteen, too pretty eyes and a wide scarlet mouth. She was wild and her eyes and her mouth were always getting her into trouble.

“What’s she done?” Davos asked, dreading to know who she’d managed to offend this time.

“Nothing! I mean, I don’t know! She’s disappeared!” Marya wailed, voice muffled against his shoulder.

“What? When?” Davos helped her to the table to sit down, went back to lock the door.

“Last night! I went to the police, but they said I have to wait seventy-two hours to file a missing person report. But by then it could be too late!”

“Three days?!” Davos said incredulously. “She’s a child, for the Maiden’s sake. How can they not help?”

Marya’s eyes began to fill with tears, Davos noticed with alarm.

“It’s my fault!” She blurted. “I—we—got into a huge fight yesterday afternoon and she went storming out. The police think she just ran away, that she’ll be back when her money runs out. But they don’t know Anya! She would never stay out overnight, never in a million years, no matter how mad she was. I don’t know what to do!”

Davos put the envelope of money on the table, neither of them giving it a further glance.

“What do you think happened? Do you have any suspicions?”

“I spoke to her friend Carlin, who said they had gone to a bar near the underpass that doesn’t check IDs well. The underpass—that’s right near Red Hill, Davos,” Marya bit her lip. “Some guy was giving them the creeps so they left, and then Carlin went home the long way but Anya said she was cutting through. Carlin said she was heading home. But... but she never got here,” Marya finished with a whisper.

“We’ll find her,” Davos promised with a reckless determination, trying to squash the despair he could feel creeping at the edge of his brain.

“What if it was the Reds? What if they’re going to burn her?” Marya clutched Davos’ arm.

Davos gulped.

“They don’t do that, Marya, that’s just old Gwenn’s stupid rumors talking.”

“Not just old Gwenn and you know it,” Marya scowled. “You used to believe it too.”

Davos shifted his weight to his other foot. He wanted to respond to the unspoken accusation—that he had changed, that going to KLP had made him different, and deny it. He wasn’t one of those rich kids with their noses in the air, whining that daddy hadn’t bought them a big enough car. He was still her neighbor, the same person he had always been. But yes, Stannis was dating a Red, and he kind of liked her and they were kind of friends. He knew the stupid stories about child burning were just the same stories that Flea Bottom folks told about anyone who was different.

“There are people who say old Gwenn is a witch. Never heard you believing those,” Davos crossed his arms. Marya sighed.

“I know that girl Stannis is dating is your friend. I’m not pretending I know the right of it. But can you ask her to look around? Ask some people? Maybe she got lost, maybe she got hit by a car and they took her to a private doctor instead of the hospital? Please, I’m just so worried about her,” Marya scrubbed the tears from her eyes with the heel of her hand.

“Of course,” Davos assured her. “Melisandre will help. She knows a lot of people around there, and those people will know people, it’s all like Flea Bottom when you get down to it. You keep the pressure on the police, let them know this isn’t going away. I’ll find her, I’ll bring her back to you,” he grabbed her hands and squeezed them. Their eyes met and she gave him a tremulous smile.

“Thank you, Davos. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me,” she managed.

His confidence lasted about as long as it took him to leave the apartment. He was on autopilot, getting back into the car and driving to the Stormlands. Melisandre could help of course, but searching for a thirteen year old in a city the size of King’s Landing? It was a fool’s errand, one with life or death consequences.

“This girl Carlin seems like the key,” Stannis said when Davos had caught him up. “Which bar? A creepy guy checking them out? Does Anya have any other friends she might have stayed with?”

“I know her, I can give her a call during first period. Anya wouldn’t have stayed with a friend, she knew Marya would be worried sick.”

“I know you’re not peddling me that baby burning crap,” Melisandre growled, when Davos and Stannis had caught her up. 

“Of course not, I just thought you might have some contacts to conduct an informal search of Red—I mean High Hill,” Davos held up a hand placatingly.

“Look, I’ll call one of the priestesses I’m close with. We have eight different shelters and several soup kitchens in the neighborhood. If she checked in there for some reason, we’ll find her.”

Davos skipped first period, the first class he’d skipped since enrolling at King’s Landing Prep. Carlin picked up on the second ring.

“Hey Seaworth, what’s up?” She giggled. She sounded high. Definitely not like she was at school.

“The bar? It was that dump near the intersection. The one that like never checks IDs. I think the owner must be loaded, the po po never raids them. You know that bar.”

Davos ground his teeth. He had a suspicion which bar she was talking about but he needed her to confirm it.

“Something with an H?” She mused. There was background chatter and she laughed. “It’s my turn asshole, pass it already!”

“Carlin, please think.”

“I can’t tell ya Seaworth. Those dives are all the same. Bouncer was ugly as sin though. All burnt up.”

Davos held the phone away from his face for a second. Hollow Hill. 

“Marya said you said something about a guy? Somebody creepy?”

“Yeah, big fella. He left before us though. The bouncer was giving him the stink eye.”

“Was there anyone else? A boyfriend maybe?”

“C’mon man, with Marya breathing down her neck? Course not. She was all het up about getting home early. They’d had some super stupid argument and she felt awful.”

“Thanks Carlin.”

“Sure. Hey you ever think about hitting that? Marya, not Anya I mean. She might calm down a little if she were getting laid on a regular basis.”

Davos blinked hard to try to cleanse his brain of the images that produced.

“Don’t talk like that, you’re thirteen Carlin.”

“Fourteen, baby. If you’re not interested in her, there are other options. Just saying.”

“Thank you Carlin.”

“Think about it.”

“Thank you Carlin.” He hung up before she could say anything dirtier.

Hollow Hill. And Sandor Clegane had been on duty.


	48. Brienne (The Mountain 2 of 9)

Brienne adjusted her top nervously. It was a new one, one that Renly had helped her pick out. Today was the day that Jaime came back to school and she had wanted to look her best.

All the fuss about Lannister Corp had died down. If Jaime wanted to sit at Center Table, she suspected there would be no issue. Cersei had certainly reclaimed her own spot quickly. Tyrion was reporting no further trouble from middle school.

Blount and Trant had basically been ostracized by their teammates. Brienne didn’t think they’d be in a hurry to stir anything up.

She’d been delivering Jaime’s homework assignments for the last three weeks to make sure he didn’t fall too badly behind. She suspected Cersei was checking his work—at any rate his grades had never been higher.

The metal splints had been removed and physical therapy was... well it was going. Jaime remained irritated by the lack of progress on that front. He was prone to stewing when frustrated, and Brienne knew the important thing was to keep his mind focused on more productive channels.

All in all, she thought that the return to school would be good for him, and that it had every likelihood of going smoothly.

They had not spoken about the kiss. For all Brienne knew, Jaime didn’t even remember it. He’d been coming out of a drug induced sleep, addled with pain killers and disoriented. It was nothing, meant less than nothing. Except sometimes it seemed like Jaime did remember it. There was a warmth in his eyes when he saw her. A gentleness to his teasing that had not always been there before. She didn’t know quite what to make of it. She had been down this road once and been badly burned. But that part of her heart that skipped a beat when she saw Jaime—well it had demanded a new top.

They weren’t the same year so they didn’t have the same classes. Brienne waited for him outside of first period. She remembered the first months of school when he would walk her from class to class. At first she had dreaded those moments. By the end she had lived for them, snatches of brightness in an otherwise boring day.

Jaime emerged, foam cast covering his right hand. He had been drifting along behind his fellow classmates, but when he saw her, his eyes lit up.

“Hey!” He said. “Come to carry my books for me?”

Brienne laughed. He was in a good mood. This was good. She had been worried that his inability to take notes would frustrate him, or that someone would say the wrong thing. God forbid he run into Euron Greyjoy, who would undoubtedly offer to sign his cast.

“How was Literature?” She asked.

“Eh, we’re reading the Tales of Lomas Longstrider, and discussing nonfiction narrative. What’s your first period today?”

“Valyrian with Quaithe. She gave us a textbook assignment that literally doesn’t exist in our textbook. Kind of par for the course.”

“So I was wondering,” Jaime began, stopping for a moment. Brienne paused as well. “Hoping I mean, that we could get lunch together.”

Brienne blinked. They had never eaten together, not even in the days leading up to the Sadie Hawkins dance, when they had been at their closest. 

“It’s just—” Jaime scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I’m trying to imagine myself eating on Meatloaf Monday with one hand and it’s not a pretty sight.”

Brienne had to snort at that.

“If you sit at Center Table, I’m sure Cersei would help you. Or what about Lysa Tully? Just bat your eyelashes at her.”

“Haven’t you heard? Lysa Tully is dating Petyr Baelish,” Jaime grinned. “Don’t you ever go on Varys’ blog?”

Brienne frowned briefly at the mention of that awful blog. She was still embarrassed that she had been featured, even if other freshmen seemed to regard it as a badge of honor. 

“Even if she weren’t, I would sooner starve than have her making calf eyes at me,” Jaime continued, oblivious to Brienne’s displeasure. “And I haven’t forgotten how Center Table treated me before I was a cripple. Maybe it’s time to start remembering who my real friends are.” He said the last simply. Brienne looked up startled, and he was watching her.

“Jaime—I don’t want to sit at the Westerlands table,” Brienne bit her lip. Addam Marbrand making his disgusting jokes. People snickering and jeering at her. “And you know I’m not important enough at the Stormlands table to make them give you a chair.” She gave him a small sad smile, willing him to see this refusal not as a rejection of the sentiment—which was lovely—but a necessary concession to the realities of the school hierarchy.

Jaime looked hurt, but only for a moment.

“If we found another table then? Would you sit with me?”

“Of course!” Brienne promised eagerly, glad that he wasn’t truly offended. An easy promise to make as well—she was fairly sure there were no other tables that would welcome both of them.

“The slowest Lannister will put his mind to it and see what he can come up with,” Jaime winked. “Now you had been hurry or you’ll be late to AP Bio, and the Stranger knows what Qyburn will do to you.”

Brienne chuckled and they parted ways. The next two periods passed quickly enough, and Brienne headed toward the cafeteria having almost forgotten her promise. She joined the line of damned souls awaiting meatloaf, claimed her slice of the mysterious substance, and was drifting absent-mindedly towards the Stormlands table when Jaime collared her.

“Wench, I can’t take my eye off you for a second!” He teased. “Already breaking your oath to me.”

“I am not!” Brienne protested heatedly. “I just happen to know there aren’t any tables.”

“Not a single table with a Westerlander and a Stormlander that has space?” Jaime scoffed. “It’s not like the neighborhoods are enemies. Not like we hate Iron Port and you hate…” He paused for a second looking baffled.

“Dornetown and the Riverlands,” Brienne supplied.

“Both of them? Really? What a terrifically quarrelsome lot you are.”

“It’s just a traditional rivalry, it’s not like I hate any of them personally,” Brienne reddened. 

“Your loss. I hate a great many Iron born personally. Hatred does wonders for the soul,” Jaime said lightly.

“Well look for yourself,” Brienne returned to the original subject. Conversations with Jaime had a habit of diverging at odd points. There were no Westerland-Stormland relationships except for Cersei and Robert, and they sat at Center Table. 

“Found one,” Jaime grinned. 

“What? Where?” Brienne sputtered, scanning the cafeteria.

“There,” Jaime leaned into her personal space and pointed. She followed his finger to its natural conclusion.

“Oh no,” she breathed.

“Oh yes,” he beamed. “Let’s go introduce ourselves, shall we?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Sandor Clegane snarled, slamming his fist down on the table so hard that all of the trays rattled. Brienne tried to slink behind Jaime to be less visible, a feat not made any easier by them being approximately the same size.

“Seconded. Motion denied,” Thoros Asshai said disinterestedly from where he was crumbling his meatloaf into small pieces with his hands and dunking them into his water.

“It’s not a democracy,” Clegane shot Thoros a dark look.

“Are you objecting to her or to me,” Jaime asked, his voice silky.

“If I say you, you’ll just go tattling to your father and then he’ll tell my father and I’ll get chewed out,” Clegane growled.

“I will neither confirm nor deny that state of affairs,” Jaime replied smugly.

“Then her.” Clegane jerked his thumb at Brienne, who was now wondering if she could further decrease her visibility by standing sideways.

“Right, Brienne,” Jaime nodded his head at Beric Dondarrion in a meaningful way. Brienne turned to look blankly at Beric, who was looking back at them with faint bemusement.

“What?” Brienne turned back to Jaime. Jaime grabbed her by the arm and dragged her some distance away.

“Persuade him,” Jaime said through his teeth.

“Beric?” Brienne glanced once more at the neatly dressed senior, who had placed his paper napkin in his lap and was attempting to cut the meatloaf with his plastic fork and knife.

“Yes,” Jaime answered with some frustration. “Dondarrion’s from Stormlands isn’t he? Do whatever secret handshake you people do and make him give you a seat.”

“There’s not a secret handshake,” Brienne hissed back. “And unlike you, my father doesn’t employ his father.”

“Then use your feminine charms,” Jaime rolled his eyes. “Just ask him, he doesn’t bite.”

Brienne flushed at the idea of trying to use her alleged feminine charms on anybody, let alone poor Beric who had never been anything but kind to her. Honestly, she wasn’t sure who would come out of that encounter more embarrassed. 

“Oh, come on,” Jaime sighed at her obvious mortification. “I’ll do it then.”

“Use your feminine charms?” Brienne snarked.

“No, use yours. Just keep quiet and try to look sad. See if you can’t cry a little bit.”

“Cry?!” Brienne exclaimed in outrage. “You cry!”

“Hi Dondarrion, it’s been ages,” Jaime dragged them back to the table. “I guess we haven’t really hung out since football season last year. Did you hear I’m out for the season? Forever really.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Beric mumbled, trying to ignore the two accusing glares he was getting from the other two members of the table.

“Yeah it sucks. Really sucks. But you’ve been there, you know,” Jaime shrugged. “Brienne’s made it a lot better though. Having a friend to help you out makes a big difference, right?” He glanced pointedly at Thoros who flipped him off. Beric blushed.

“We’d sit at the Westerlands table, but you know how guys can be around a freshman girl they don’t know. I just don’t want to put her though that,” Jaime threw his arm around Brienne and discretely stomped on her foot. Ow. She begrudgingly tried to look sad, training big blue eyes on the boy in front of her.

Weirdly it seemed to work. Or at the very least it seemed to make him quite uncomfortable.

“Um, well of course,” Beric fidgeted, trying to avoid Brienne’s gaze.

“You don’t mind if she sits here, do you Dondarrion?” Jaime said sweetly.

“Errr,” Beric swallowed. Then his chin came up determinedly.

“Of course I don’t. Brienne, I would be delighted if you had lunch with us. And… And so would Thoros,” he added, with what appeared to be a sharp kick under the table.

“De-lighted,” Thoros sighed. 

“This is NOT a democracy,” Clegane snarled. “And she can’t sit here, therefore you can’t sit here, therefore SCRAM!” 

“Just ignore him,” Beric advised. “His bark is much worse than his bite.” He smiled and gestured to a chair. Brienne sat down, trying to ignore the murderous glare she was getting from Clegane.

“I’ll show you bite, you cocksucker,” Clegane growled at Beric, but it did appear to be an empty threat. Brienne relaxed marginally.

“Right,” Jaime said brightly. “I’ll just scoot in here. Clegane, would you mind scooching to your left? This table is a mite cramped.”

“It didn’t used to be,” Clegane sulked. But he shoved his tray to the left.

“So Brienne, I believe there were promises to cut my meatloaf?” Jaime turned to her. The unspoken sentiment of look how well I worked everything out for us going barely unsaid. Brienne pulled an exasperated face, but begrudgingly began to saw away at the meatloaf.

“Your sister is coming over,” Beric said suddenly. Jaime twisted, startled.

“Not your sister, my sister,” Thoros sighed. “Great Other, what did I do now?”

It was not just Melisandre Asshai, who Brienne found intimidatingly pretty, but also Stannis Baratheon, who Brienne found just… intimidating. She appeared to be the only one at the table who felt that way, however.

“Were you two on shift at the Hollow Hill last night?” Stannis said, looking between Clegane and Thoros.

“No officer,” Thoros crossed his arms.

“Maybe I was, what of it?” Clegane took a swig of water.

“Looking for a girl. A little sister of Davos’ friend. She went missing last night,” Stannis said quietly. The table straightened up. 

“Describe her,” Clegane said.

“Approximately five foot two, long straight brown hair, hazel eyes. Wearing jeans and a black top. She’s thirteen. Probably looked older.”

Clegane clicked his tongue.

“Aye, she was there with a friend. Blond girl. They stuck around for an hour maybe, then left. Didn’t see where they went, but they seemed alright. They were just walking toward Red Hill.”

“What time do you think they left?” Stannis asked.

“Ten maybe?” 

“Was there anyone watching them? Her friend said there was a big guy in the corner, but that he left before they did?” 

Clegane stiffened. Set down his water.

“He have something to do with it?” He spoke so casually, but Brienne would swear she had never heard him sound angrier. Even Stannis looked uncomfortable. 

“It’s a possibility,” he said evenly.

“A bad one,” Clegane warned, eyes black. “She’s talking about my brother Gregor.”


	49. Beric (The Mountain 3 of 9)

Beric might have just screwed everything up. He contemplated that as he held the tissue to his nose, waiting for it to stop gushing blood. 

He was a complete jerk, and he absolutely deserved this. What if Thoros never wanted to talk to him again? Obviously he was furious, Beric was sure he’d be furious in Thoros’ position. He had just gotten kind of carried away, and when Thoros had told him to slow down, he had been distracted by the hitch in his voice and the slightly salty taste of his skin and his fingers had kept going because Thoros sounded fucking sexy when he was flustered. 

So he had maybe mistaken the “slow down” for ‘I am feeling overwhelming amounts of pleasure’ instead of ‘I have never been with someone in that way and you teasing me right there is making me really nervous’. Which had earned him a headbutt straight to the face. 

Except he should have known. Hadn’t he been here not two years ago? And Jon had been precisely the worst person to deal with that. He had been cold, uncommunicative, completely focused on his own physical satisfaction.

Beric had grown from that experience. Learned what he needed from a mature relationship, and that was a two way street. Thoros should be able to trust him. He couldn’t be another Jon, couldn’t—

“Uh hey, are you okay?” Thoros asked, sidling into the bathroom looking sheepish.

Beric checked the tissue again, to disguise the hope that had lit up his face. They were still talking. That was a good sign.

“I think the blood flow is slowing down,” he said optimistically.

“It’s not broken is it?” Thoros stepped forward, head tilted. He squeezed the bridge of Beric’s nose.

“Hey,” Beric swatted his hand away.

“It’s not broken,” Thoros assured him. “If it had, that would have killed.”

“Voice of experience?”

“Yup,” Thoros admitted easily. 

“I would have deserved it,” Beric said softly, knowing that as tempting as it was to gloss over what had just happened, he owed Thoros an apology. 

“Why do you think every time something bad happens to you, you deserve it? It’s very weird and pathological,” Thoros jumped up so he was sitting on the sink counter.

“Look, I freaked out. In case you haven’t noticed, communication isn’t a strong point for me. I prefer to solve my problems with violence, and when that is unavailable, I set Mel’s clothes on fire. I just want um, want you to know, that it’s not something I don’t want.” Thoros shifted uncomfortably. “It just caught me by surprise. Let’s get some beers and get wasted and try again,” he grinned and leaned in for a kiss.

Beric wondered what he had done to deserve someone so great. He closed his eyes and felt Thoros’ lips on his. Thoros always tasted sweet. Like his Myrrish rum. They could get some beers and get wasted and it would be good. Better than Beric’s first had been anyway. Wondering if everything was supposed to hurt. But Thoros deserved better than good.

“So we could do that. Or, we could wait until you’re ready and don’t need alcohol to shut up the voice in your head that says otherwise,” Beric took his hand, entwined their fingers. 

“You’re not annoyed?” Thoros asked cautiously.

“Of course not,” Beric smiled affectionately. “Why would I be annoyed that I get to debauch my priest?”

Thoros huffed.

“I’m plenty debauched.”

Beric smirked.

“My innocent wide-eyed priest,” he teased.

“I’m not—“ Thoros’ protest was cut off by another kiss.

Beric got to wake up next to his boyfriend (he still got a tingle of joy thinking that word) in a cozy twin bed, feeling like he had not irreparably screwed everything up after all. In fact, he was feeling like everything in his life was going so perfectly well. 

Until Stannis and Melisandre came over to their table at lunch to talk to Sandor Clegane about a missing girl, and Gregor Clegane’s name came up.

It was like a sign from the universe. That no matter how sunny and wonderful the world might seem, the darkness of that night on the highway was always waiting. They were walking on the thinnest layer of ice, all of them, never knowing that just underneath, there be monsters. And the last time the ice had cracked and Beric had been forced to confront this particular monster, he had run. The rest of the group was still talking, but their conversation had ebbed to a low buzz in Beric’s mind.

He remembered Gregor as a freshman, already enormously tall and brutish, those awful tiny eyes that glinted with a sort of dull cunning. How Beric had been walking into town when he’d seen him by the middle school, a child in his hands like another might carry a rag doll.

There had been a knot of three or four other children, all scrambling to turn their pockets out and give him whatever they’d had. It was robbery, pure and simple, robbery perpetrated on the young and the weak by someone older and stronger. When the children weren’t going fast enough, Gregor would twist the child in his hands and he would scream—a thin shrill sound that Beric could still hear now. 

A better person would have intervened. Any good fundamentally decent person, which until that moment, Beric had always thought he was. He had taken a step toward them even, when some animal instinct had made Gregor look up, directly at him, and Beric had frozen in place. Then he had averted his gaze and kept walking, his fear making him physically sick to be who he was. He had failed those children, failed himself, and even when everything else was right, the universe would never forget what he had done and not done that day.

“He didn’t come home until really late last night,” Clegane was saying. “I don’t know where he was.”

There was a long pause while they digested that information. A thirteen year old girl, abducted by Gregor Clegane. Not even Jaime Lannister would make a joke about that.

“Somewhere with no witnesses,” Jaime blurted instead, looking at Clegane. “That’s what he said about the Greyjoys, remember? When I asked him to fight? That Victarion should have found somewhere with no witnesses?”

Stannis, Melisandre and Thoros all glared at him for bringing that memory up, but Jaime was on a roll.

“Your father does building maintenance for Lannister Corp. He’d have keys to all the facilities. Eight facilities in this city alone, all of which are in the process of being vacated, ever since the municipal services contract with the city went to shit. That’s eight empty office buildings, assuming Gregor could get the keys.”

“Gregor could get the keys,” Clegane growled.

“What facility is closest to Hollow Hill?” Stannis asked, prior antipathy replaced by focus.

“I don’t know the locations off the top of my head, but I can pull the addresses easily enough. I have study hall next period, I’ll text them to...” Jaime trailed off when he realized that he had nobody’s number. “Dondarrion.”

Beric blinked. His family wasn’t particularly religious, only going to the sept on special occasions. But it was hard not to feel like this was a nudge from the universe. Make this right.

“Of course, my number hasn’t changed,” he said. “I think I have everyone else’s number actually from the surprise party thread that Robert started. We’ll need copies of the keys ourselves if we’re going to check them out. And it might be a good thing if you came with us... just in case we ran into anybody.”

“I can get keys from my father’s secretary after school,” Jaime said. “Where should I meet you guys?”

“Your guys’ apartment maybe?” Beric glanced at Thoros.

“It’s closest to Hollow Hill,” Thoros agreed quietly.

“I’ll text you the address,” Beric told Jaime.

“Text me the address too,” Clegane chipped in. Everyone stared at him.

“He is your brother, we would understand if it was... complicated,” Beric tried to put it delicately. Clegane stared at him, ruined face drawn in uncompromising lines.

“It’s a thirteen year old girl. Doesn’t seem that fucking complicated,” he snarled.

Beric wished that it had been Sandor Clegane across the street from those kids three years ago. Sandor Clegane would have done the right thing.

“I’ll text you both,” Beric nodded. The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch.

“Hey! Can I talk to you for a sec?” Thoros caught up with him. Beric glanced at his watch. He had AP World History and Mr. Ravin had a habit of not waiting for latecomers.

“What’s up?” He said, as he slowed but did not stop.

“I want to make sure you’re not going to do something really stupid,” Thoros said bluntly.

Beric raised an eyebrow.

“Says the guy who waltzed off to take on a criminal syndicate by himself.”

“Yeah, and almost got my ass kicked and then shishkebab’ed on a knife for good measure. That was stupid. Don’t be me.”

“I’m not going to promise not to go after him,” Beric frowned. Thoros sighed.

“As much as I would like that, I never thought you would. I’m just saying—we’re a team. Let’s do this as a team. Keep me in the loop?”

“Of course,” Beric promised.

“I’m serious. We need to get the police involved as soon as there’s any kind of evidence that he has her. Can you live with that?”

“Obviously,” Beric started to get a little annoyed. “I’m not trying to make this about me.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Thoros fumbled a bit. “I just—when I’m pissed, sometimes I care more about getting even than doing the right thing. And I don’t register the collateral damage that causes. And if you got hurt, I would be collateral damage, because I would be really really upset.”

Awwww. Thoros always had been impossible to stay mad at.

“I promise, I’m not going anywhere without you, and we’re calling the police the second we find anything,” Beric said reassuringly. “I’m not trying to do anything crazy, I just… I just really need to do the right thing here. You can understand that right?” 

“I wouldn’t dream of standing between you and doing the right thing,” Thoros answered. Beric started to smile. “…because it wouldn’t work,” Thoros finished with a grin. 

“I’m not a saint!” Beric returned to their age old argument.

“Sure, that’s why we have Jaime Lannister and Brienne Tarth at the table. I barely have elbow room anymore!”

“Brienne Tarth has not been dealt an easy hand, and I don’t see why we should go around making it any more difficult,” Beric said sternly.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t want to have Jaime Lannister follow me around either. It’s bad enough having to look at his stupid face at lunch,” Thoros grumbled.

Beric briefly contemplated the odd friendship that Brienne seemed to have found with Jaime. He had never cared for Jaime Lannister much, but he was relieved that someone seemed to be looking out for the freshman girl. And maybe she was looking out for him. Certainly Jaime seemed to be a little less… scathingly sarcastic this year.

“So they stay at the table?” He said, just to be sure.

“If you want them,” Thoros shrugged.

“I do.”

“Then how could I refuse my lord,” Thoros said in a jokey whisper not meant for the students passing. Beric wished that they were somewhere else, somewhere he could lean in and nuzzle his boyfriend. His. That thrill of belonging to someone and them belonging to you and he was ready to suggest they skip class.

Then his cell phone buzzed and he opened it to see a text from Jaime Lannister. It was an address in High Hill, an address not all that far from the bar. And Beric knew, even as he opened the thread to text Thoros’ apartment to Jaime and Clegane, that it was the right place. That they were embarking on a hunt that would finally settle his outstanding debts, once and for all.


	50. Melisandre (The Mountain 4 of 9)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy fiftieth anniversary!!! I am still mildly shellshocked that I have written anything that is fifty chapters long, let alone a fic that is eighty-nine chapters and counting. I really really want to thank everyone who has taken the time to comment. I wanted to write a very idosyncratic high school AU about Mel/Stan, Bri/Jaim and Ber/Thor. And at any point, you could have been 'Boschling, the Venn diagram of people who enjoy those pairings is exactly one person and it's you.' But you didn't! Everyone has been super supportive. And a huge thanks to my repeat reviewers! I always look forward to hearing from you and it makes me so excited that you like the story enough to keep reading. For Chapters 25 to 50, that's Mog, Imber, Sincereously, Team Gwenee, Snowberry, Yokotoyama, CorvidFeathers, Seeas and AlsoSprachVelociraptor. You guys are the best.

“I’m sorry, we have no records of an Anya or any other girl matching that description from yesterday or this morning,” Moqorro said sympathetically, tugging at his white beard. “Only thirteen? The Lord of Light protect her.”

“Thank you,” Melisandre curtsied out of respect, and started to inch out of his office. The Director of Neighborhood Outreach, Moqorro’s cramped quarters piled high with paperwork always gave the impression of being one hard sneeze away from collapse. The moment Gregor Clegane’s name had entered the conversation, her hopes of finding the girl tucked away in some homeless shelter had dwindled significantly. But it had seemed unduly pessimistic to skip this step entirely. Plus Stannis was looking around with undisguised interest, and some small part of her heart reserved for Stannis doing adorable things warmed to see him taking an interest in her temple.

“You haven’t been volunteering at the soup kitchens much as late,” Moqorro suddenly fixed his enormous dark eyes on her before she could complete her escape. Melisandre felt her skin prickle with an unfamiliar sense of guilt.

“The school year just makes things so busy,” she mumbled. Or studying with Stannis, going to the movies with Stannis, lounging in the hot tub with Stannis…

“Are you going to introduce me to your friend?” Moqorro changed the subject slyly, turning to look at the boy in question as if he could read her thoughts. That was when Melisandre realized he’d been teasing her about her absenteeism and flushed ever so slightly.

“Stannis Baratheon, this is Priest Moqorro, from the Summer Islands by way of Volantis.”

“Hello,” Stannis shook his hand awkwardly.

“You be good to our Melisandre,” Moqorro grinned. “Have you seen him in the flames sister?”

“Once,” Melisandre admitted, and then grabbed Stannis and dragged him out of the office before he could inquire further. 

“He’s not very like our septon,” Stannis kept turning to look back over his shoulder.

“Hrrrm,” Melisandre said noncommittally. In that he wasn’t a heretic who had dedicated his life to the worship of false gods? 

“He thought we were dating,” Stannis continued.

“We are dating,” Melisandre reminded him. Even if they mostly just held hands and kissed.

“I know! But I think he thought we were… you know, having sex,” Stannis whispered in an undertone. 

“He did,” Melisandre assured him. Stannis nearly tripped over his feet.

“What?! Why?!” 

“Because we’re sixteen and you’re my boyfriend? It’s not… it’s just not taboo for us like it is for you Westerosi and your Seven. Sex is a celebration of life, which makes it antithetical to the Great Other and the Long Night. It’s sacred and joyous and you can do it for pleasure or for purpose, it doesn’t matter to the Lord of Light,” Melisandre tried to explain in a respectful way. Because saying this country was a bunch of prudes who used their false gods to shame women into obedience would just make Stannis grumpy, even if it was completely true.

She and Stannis hadn’t really spoken about sex. Ever since their date night, she had accepted that it wasn’t where his head was at yet, and tried not to pressure him. Honestly, she wasn’t sure what to say or what exactly the hold up was. It wasn’t that he didn’t find her attractive. That night in the hot tub, she had been keenly aware of a certain amount of… interest. 

This had never come up with Kinvara. The very first night they had kissed, things had gone well beyond kissing, and their relationship had proceeded apace. Actually, she wasn’t sure they had much of a relationship beyond that physical connection. Which they had explored in depth.

“Have you had sex?” Stannis asked suddenly, looking morose. Oh. Oof. Maybe that was the problem? Still, Melisandre thought with a toss of her head, societal expectations that the man be more experienced were vestiges of the same gendered hierarchy that slut-shamed women with their veneration of the so-called Maiden. If he didn’t know what to do, she was happy to teach him exactly what she liked.

“I’ve never had sex with a man,” Melisandre replied truthfully and coyly, stopping in the hallway so he would turn and look at her. She had never discussed Kinvara with Stannis, not because she thought he would be upset, but because bringing up Kinvara still made her upset. She didn’t like to lose.

“A woman then?”

“Yep.”

Long pause. She wet her lips.

“Is that a problem?” She tilted her head just so, let her voice dip into sultry. Most men were into that sort of thing. But when she took a step toward him, he took a step back. Melisandre wanted to bang her head on the wall in frustration. 

“Umm, that night I spent the night after Thoros’ birthday party,” Stannis finally broke the silence awkwardly with a non sequitur. “He saw me coming out of your bedroom. He didn’t seem very upset.”

“I would hope not. That would be pretty hypocritical coming from Mr. One Night Stand,” Melisandre said drily. 

“So everybody who follows the Lord of Light feels that way?” Stannis said stiffly. Melisandre stopped.

“That sex is generally a happy good thing? Yeah? What are we actually talking about?” She said impatiently. If they weren’t going to have some kind of breakthrough that would let her drag him into the nearest supply closet, she wanted to get home and report back to Davos.

“I just,” Stannis looked at his feet. “That night I spent the night, were you disappointed that I didn’t…”

“Oh! No!” Melisandre rushed to reassure him. “It’s not something I wanted right then. Or even right now,” she tossed in a little white lie for good measure. “Just you know, down the line,” she smiled. Stannis still looked uneasy. Ugh, what to say. “I mean, assuming you want to? I guess if you wanted to wait until marriage, that’s something we should maybe talk about?” Melisandre mentally winced. Shit. What if that was what this was about? Maybe taking him to the temple had been a bad idea.

“Not marriage exactly,” Stannis swallowed. “But I think the first time should be special.”

Oh. And he thought it wouldn’t be special because it wouldn’t be her first time. 

He was looking at her intensely, that dark blue stare that could freeze her in her tracks. They were standing so close she could have touched him, but it felt like a chasm had opened between them.

Then their phones buzzed.

“Jaime has the keys. We should get back to the apartment,” Melisandre said loudly, her voice echoing on the tile floor. 

“You’re right,” Stannis agreed equally loudly. 

What hadn’t been said sounded loudest of all.

By the time they got back to the apartment, Thoros, Beric and Davos were already there. Which was great, because things hadn’t quite gotten less awkward yet.

“I spoke to Marya, she hasn’t heard from her. I told her we were following a lead,” Davos said.

“She hasn’t been to any of the soup kitchens or the shelters in High Hill,” Stannis replied, resolutely not looking at her.

Thoros was pouring beers for everyone, and Clegane, who was the next to arrive, snorted.

“This place is a dump. Did all of your glasses come from Hollow Hill?”

“Everyone takes from work,” Thoros scoffed.

“Had your brother been by the house at all?” Beric asked Clegane.

“Hey can I talk to you for a second?” Melisandre said in a low undertone to Thoros while everyone was distracted. She pulled him into her room, where she made sure the door was closed.

“What’s wrong?” Thoros asked suspiciously.

“Does something have to be wrong?” Melisandre scowled.

“The last time you said ‘can I talk to you’, it was because you were stranded in a rainstorm with a dead car a thousand miles from civilization.”

“Stannis is a virgin,” Melisandre began dramatically. She had been expecting some kind of a reaction, but Thoros only took a sip of beer.

“You knew! How did you know?!” Melisandre demanded. 

“How did you not? Literally everything about that guy screams that he hasn’t been laid in sixteen years.” Thoros shrugged. “The twitchiness, the obsession with rules, the fact that he blushes every time you stretch…”

“Okay first, you’re one to talk. Your boyfriend literally does all those things, with an OCD hard-on for cleanliness thrown in,” Melisandre snapped. “Does he make you shower before sex?”

Thoros coughed.

“We’re just friends.”

“Yeah? Your friend gave you a bruise on your neck. Kinda looks like a hickey.”

“So Stannis is a virgin?”

“Right, and when I said I wasn’t and asked if that was a problem, he practically ran away! And then he said sex should be special! What if he won’t have sex with me because he thinks it won’t be special?!”

“If I had to guess, I would think after a year or two of blue balls he would cave.” Thoros replied.

“It’s not about the sex!” 

Thoros rolled his eyes.

“It’s not totally about the sex!” Melisandre amended. “He’s completely perfect and I don’t—“

“Are we still talking about Stannis?”

“YES,” Melisandre growled and then continued, “and what if I lose him because he thinks I sleep around?!”

Thoros nearly spat out his beer on her bed.

“That’s ridiculous. You’ve been with one person!”

“Then why isn’t he talking to me?!” Melisandre was aware that her voice was getting whiney and she hated it.

“Okay, this seems like a problem for future Melisandre, so can we put a pin in it? Seeing as we’re in the middle of an insanely dangerous manhunt for a kidnapped child and I’m convinced my boyfriend is about to do something horrendously stupid?” Thoros tried to edge around her to get to the door.

“I thought he was your friend,” Melisandre gave the dig a little extra venom to distract from the fact that Thoros was probably right.

“Friend. That’s what I said.”

Melisandre tilted her head at him. 

“Look, it’s coming from him okay? He doesn’t want people to know we’re in a relationship because he doesn’t want people to know he’s gay.”

“And you’re fine with that?” She said doubtfully.

“It’s not forever, it doesn’t seem like that big of a deal. And that’s future Thoros’ problem so we’re putting a pin in that too. Let’s go save a child,” Thoros managed to get around her to open the door again.

Melisandre sighed. That had really not helped, except to confirm that Thoros might have his own issues and she probably wouldn’t be having sex any time soon. Well, the day that talking to Thoros yielded profound wisdom would be the day the Long Night came. Jaime Lannister and Brienne Tarth had shown up, making their already small living room feel even tinier. Melisandre briefly yearned for the days when she had tried to keep people from ever seeing her apartment. A simpler time.

“We’re ready to go,” Stannis announced. “Do you both have your cell phones?”

“Yes,” Melisandre said. Thoros gave a thumbs up.

“Okay, here’s the plan. We’re going to comb the building in pairs. If anyone finds anything, they call Jaime who will be at the entrance. He’ll call the police, since he’s the only one with any right to be there and he can’t really fight anyway.”

“Hey!” Jaime scowled at that last.

“Your injury makes you a liability in a fight,” Stannis announced flatly. Jaime glared at him, but then Brienne stepped in. 

“Every second we’re arguing is a second wasted. Who’s driving?”

“I haven’t had anything to drink,” Beric jumped in, with a pointed glance at Thoros, Clegane and Davos. Davos immediately put his beer down. Clegane drained his, and then drained Davos’.

“It’s light beer,” Thoros rolled his eyes, but poured the rest of his out in the sink.

“Okay, you and I can drive,” Brienne replied to Beric, ignoring the others. 

Clegane immediately claimed the entirety of Brienne’s back seat. Great, five in Beric’s stupid not-particularly large car.

Davos started to slide in first, so she immediately hurried to the other side and got in, before locking the car door, effectively trapping him in the middle between her and Stannis. He shot her a frustrated glare.

“What happened this time?!” 

Melisandre ignored him. She really really needed more female friends. She wondered if Brienne Tarth had any thoughts on relationships. Certainly whatever was happening between her and Jaime Lannister seemed… complicated.

The drive took maybe ten minutes. The office building had been mostly boarded up and looked shabby and run down. Certainly there were no signs that it belonged to the shining monolith of Lannister Corp. Melisandre scanned but did not see another car. If Gregor Clegane was here, he had come on foot.

Somehow, actually breaking into a building made it feel real. That there might be a child in here, a scared lonely child who may have been subjected to all kinds of abuse. Worse, Gregor Clegane might be in here. Melisandre remembered some of the stories Davos had told her about him and shuddered.

The other car had gotten there first, and Jaime Lannister was already sorting through an enormous ring of keys.

“We won’t be able to get in through the front, but there’s a side door that should open for… this key,” Jaime said, isolating one of the keys. Melisandre wished he sounded slightly more certain. Lannister or not, there was no way a group of eight kids standing around an abandoned office building as they tried key after key was not going to attract suspicion. Or worse, draw attention from someone already in the building.

Fortunately, the key slid in and the door unlocked smoothly. Melisandre peered in. With all the office doors shut, the interior hallway was dark indeed. In the distance, the red pulse of an exit sign was the only light.

For a moment nobody said anything.

“There are three floors and a basement,” Jaime ventured at last. “connected by stairwells on either end of the building. The elevator in the center won’t work—power would have been shut off when the building was vacated. I have all of the master office keys, one of which should be able to open any door. If a door doesn’t open, you can text me your location and I can bring the master key ring, but it’ll take a while to find the key that matches.” He jangled the enormous key ring in demonstration.

“Remember everybody, let Jaime know the second you find any evidence we can bring to the police,” Stannis said. “Davos and I will check the second floor. Clegane and Brienne will check the third floor. Beric and Thoros will check the basement. Melisandre, you and Jaime take a quick look around the ground floor but stay close to the exits.”

“I’m… I’m not coming with you and Davos?” Melisandre hated how shaky her voice sounded. She wasn’t scared. She was NOT scared.

“The ground floor is the safest place. Both because of its proximity to an exit and the unlikelihood of Gregor Clegane choosing it as a hideout,” Stannis said, meeting her gaze for the first time since the temple earlier that afternoon, stone-faced but eyes bright with an earnest determination. “You will be safest here. I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

This time was the unspoken addendum, and Melisandre was dismayed to realize he still blamed himself for that mess with the Greyjoys.

“Okay,” she found herself agreeing. “But what about you?”

“What about me?” He asked blankly.

Melisandre opened her mouth to tell him what a bad feeling she was getting about this. How every time she had ever come near Gregor Clegane, all she had felt was the true cold of an endless night. Gregor Clegane was dangerous, on a level she wasn’t sure Stannis could truly comprehend. And if something happened to Stannis… Melisandre suddenly, stupidly found her eyes beginning to well up. He meant so much to her. Surely he could see that?

“Promise you won’t let anything happen to you,” she said finally. It was all she could manage. She hoped it was enough.

“I promise,” Stannis said seriously, and then he turned and walked down the hallway into the gloom. It would have to be enough.


	51. Jaime (The Mountain 5 of 9)

Jaime liked action movies and Jaime liked sports movies. The feel good formula, the down on his luck badass who makes a comeback and triumphs against all odds. Formulas worked for a reason. They punched certain buttons in the human psyche, and much like Cersei at her most conniving, pulled certain strings. But the thing was, even though Jaime could see what they were doing and how they were doing it, he always responded. 

The formula required a second act. And for a second act to be good, the hero had to go through some shit. That was what Jaime kept reminding himself as some moron of a Maester led him through exercises where he had to squeeze a ball or point a finger. Ridiculous simple little tasks you would ask of a toddler. That was what he thought as his hand shook spastically, trying to close into a simple pointing gesture. 

You were supposed to feel sorry for the hero, Jaime reminded himself as Cersei lay at the foot of his hospital bed chewing a pencil as she corrected his math homework. And again as Tyrion hand delivered chocolate milkshakes from their favorite diner every afternoon. And again as his father dropped off two front row tickets to the world judo championships that his secretary had happened to buy and no longer needed.

The hero needed to grow, to learn what was important to him and who was important to him, Jaime thought as Brienne came by after school as she always did to chat and bring his homework. She hadn’t said anything about their kiss, and Jaime hoped she wasn’t banking on him having forgotten. Regardless, he could be patient. He didn’t have the luxury of a training montage to fast forward through this part.

The question was really what his second act would be. Whatever happened, Brienne would be a part of it. He could woo her forever if he had to, but somehow he didn’t think it would take that long. But that wasn’t enough. Jaime wanted to be a better person.

He realized that he’d been floating along as mostly an asshole for a very long time. And Brienne had made him want to be somebody different, but really only for Brienne. That wasn’t enough. The hero didn’t just save his girl, he cleaned up the mess. He could do that.

The first apology was perhaps overdue. He waited until his sister had finished perusing his essay on the unreliable narrator and had added a few thoughts of her own. Satisfied with the product, she put the laptop back in his bag and started to pack her things.

“Thanks, Cersei,” he said. She looked at the bed, vaguely startled, as if she had forgotten he was there.

“I’m guaranteeing at least an A minus. I had to save some of the good points for my essay,” she quipped.

“Hey, I know we haven’t been super tight this year,” Jaime began hesitantly. Cersei immediately stiffened.

How to say politely that you bring out the absolute worst in me and I got tired of that? You can’t. So you don’t.

“I know that’s on me. Just spent so long being half of a pair that I needed some space. To see what was left when it was just me. You know?”

“Not really,” Cersei replied flatly. Jaime couldn’t tell if he was getting any traction with her. Funny, he used to know what she was thinking.

“Well maybe you already knew who you were without me. You are the smart one,” he threw in some flattery for good measure. “But I should have said something. Because I love you, I’ll always love you, and if you need me for anything, I promise I’ll have your back.”

There. He held his breath.

“You’re not dying are you?” Cersei said, eyes suddenly narrowing, as she started flipping through the nurse’s notes next to his bed.

“No! I’m just saying I’m sorry for not being around if you needed me. And you were right.”

“About what?”

“I did fall for Brienne. And backing off because father wouldn’t approve was pretty stupid.”

“Hmmmph,” Cersei crossed her arms. “Your children will be hideous.”

Jaime had to smile. And then Cersei had to smile. Gods they were fucked up.

The next step of course was convincing Brienne that she needed a charming and dashingly handsome one handed boyfriend.

That meant way more quality time with her. He had been making some good headway at the hospital. Now he just needed to capitalize. And that meant lunch. He was determined they would sit together, no matter the cost. Which was high, as it turned out. Both in terms of social capital expended (he would never hear the end of it from Addam) and in self-restraint required.

He had at the very least managed to avoid making crippled freak show jokes to Dondarrion and Clegane. Although seriously. They should sell tickets. The burned man! The one-eyed wonder! And of course, THE CLAW!

But then Stannis had showed up talking about missing girls, and even Jaime found it hard to see the funny side. Especially where Gregor Clegane was concerned. And he knew this was his chance to contribute something better than snarky remarks to the world.

He was careful not to look at Brienne, because he wasn’t doing this for Brienne, but he knew she was impressed. Slowest Lannister indeed. Not only did he intuit where Gregor must have gone and how he got there, but he offered to join the team, help with an assist. Because collaboration and supporting roles were things he did now.

Of course Brienne came along too. This whole child saving thing came naturally to her. Presumably any sworn companion of Renly Baratheon had to do a great deal of it. But that didn’t mean they had to engage in some tearful and emotionally tense goodbye like Stannis Baratheon and his haughty redhead. First, Brienne could take care of herself. Second, she had been paired with Sandor Clegane, and there was probably no safer bodyguard to have at the moment, including himself.

Of course that left him alone with Melisandre Asshai. Who might be a witch. There was no other explanation for someone who had managed to seduce Stannis Baratheon in a broom closet. 

As children, he and Cersei had been forced to play with Robert and Stannis often. Which was a misnomer because Stannis didn’t actually play. Most of his vivid childhood memories featured Stannis in the background reading as he and Cersei tried to trick Robert into eating a mud pie. Or Stannis in the background working the lemonade stand as Cersei flirted with the customers and Robert held him down and tried to squirt lemon juice in his eye. Or Stannis carefully cleaning the mess by the pool after he and Cersei had ambushed Robert with paintball guns.

The point was that Stannis Baratheon had always been an old man trapped in a child’s body. He didn’t run around challenging Greyjoys over a girl, he didn’t get caught hooking up at school dances, he didn’t take shots and play spin the bottle. This girl had done something.

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to stare?” Melisandre asked archly as she picked a thread on the sleeve of her dress.

“My mother died when I was five,” Jaime sneered right back. Was it petty to use your mother’s death as a conversational cudgel? Perhaps. But the hero was still allowed to get in a good one liner every once in a while.

“Excuse me. Your nanny. One of your father’s many mistresses. Whatever fancy tutor you had growing up,” Melisandre sniffed, wholly unapologetic. 

“Does Stannis know you hate rich people?” Jaime drawled. “Or do you only hate them if their money’s not being spent on you? I must warn you, you’ve picked the wrong brother if you’re looking for a splashy child support settlement.”

Melisandre flinched and glared at him with pure malice. Jaime was surprised that was the dig that got to her—perhaps Stannis wasn’t spending enough money on his girlfriend.

“Most people would tell you to go after Robert, but my advice is Renly for that one. Complete romantic who will get you flowers, jewelry, runway dresses... and you won’t have to waste your time in the bedroom doing anything but sleeping.”

Melisandre was grinding her teeth. Jaime knew he had breezed past the line of good taste ages ago and could see fair turnabout receding in the distance. Still, there was enough of the old Jaime left that he felt compelled to keep going.

“But maybe Stannis doesn’t require much in the bedroom either? Missionary, three pumps and a kiss goodnight?” Jaime clucked mock sympathetically. “Then you will need Robert after all. I’m sure Cersei would be happy to share.”

Melisandre’s face had gone completely blank. She looked almost bored. Thus, Jaime was surprised when she turned on her heel and began to walk off into the murky gloom.

Okay, her obvious disdain for him had gotten under his skin but one handed or not, he couldn’t let some sophomore girl wander off alone when the Stranger knew if Gregor Clegane was lurking about.

“What are you doing?!” Jaime hissed, catching up to her.

“Checking these rooms for any sign of the girl,” Melisandre said in a monotonous voice. She opened one and walked in, Jaime frantically scrambling to get inside as well before the door closed.

It was empty. Before he had time to exhale, Melisandre had wandered back out into the hall and was crossing to open the next office door.

“Hey! Let me go in first at least?” Jaime barely caught the door before it slammed in his face.

“Why? You heard Stannis. It’s statistically unlikely that she’s on this floor. And what exactly would you do if he were?”

Jaime bit his tongue and reminded himself that mocking her sex life had been too far past the line.

“Club him with my cast maybe? Die trying to buy you time to escape?”

“I’m flattered,” Melisandre responded tartly. She moved to the next office without waiting to see if Jaime had caught up. He mentally groaned. Brienne would have at least smiled at that one. Figured Stannis had found someone as stubborn as he was.

“Have I mentioned how much I like your dress? It’s very um, red?” Jaime tried to butter her up in an attempt to get her to stop slamming doors in his face.

“My religion requires the faithful to wear red.” Slam.

“That’s nice,” Jaime quickly opened it and joined her in the third office. At this rate, Gregor Clegane would hear them coming from a mile away. Jaime checked his phone hopefully. Nothing. He searched his brain for anything he knew about her. So, what’s it like to get to second base with a Greyjoy? Ha.

“Uh your brother fights very well. Where did he learn?”

“Bars.” Slam.

“You know I feel like we got off on the wrong foot,” Jaime said, pasting what he hoped passed for an earnest expression on his face. “You make Stannis very happy. He basically worships the ground you walk on.”

Melisandre finally stopped, and her shoulders dropped ever so slightly.

“Thanks,” she mumbled. Jaime wasn’t sure that he had undone the damage, but at least this time she let him go into the office first. It turned out to be as boring as the last three. Stripped bare, with a boarded up window through which slatted bars of light struggled to illuminate a dingy carpet floor and white walls pockmarked by nail holes and dents.

Then he heard it. A noise, coming from the far end of the hall. He grabbed Melisandre and put her behind him. 

“Get your phone out and be ready to the call the police,” he growled, every sense straining through the gloom to discern what had caused the noise. There. It came again. 

Melisandre touched his arm, her touch unnaturally warm. 

“Is that... a girl crying?” She asked uncertainly. Jaime swallowed. 

“That’s what it sounds like,” he admitted. “Stay close to me. We’ll check it out.” 

Thankfully she did not argue, just trailed in his wake, a step behind his elbow. Jaime inhaled through his nose and exhaled through his mouth to force his heart rate lower. Forced himself to be calm and alert. Joking aside, fighting with one arm would be bad news. Even assuming he could buy Melisandre enough time to escape, it would be a brutally one sided beat-down. 

There it was again, that hiccupy sob. It was coming from one of the last offices, closest to the far stairwell. 

“Hello?” Jaime called uncertainly. “Anya? Can you hear us?” 

Nothing. 

He gritted his teeth. They were supposed to the lookouts, the ones who weren’t in any danger. He didn’t care for his sake, but Melisandre was what? Fifteen? Barely older than the child they were trying to rescue. He could see through that facade of cold disdain. He knew facades. He’d been building them since he was a kid. She was scared shitless and he wasn’t sure he blamed her. 

“It came from in there,” Melisandre pointed, and Jaime nodded. 

“Text the others that we might have found something. And stay—“

“If I were any closer to you, we could revisit the subject of child support payments,” Melisandre snarked, but even her joke felt nervous, a whistle in the wind. 

Jaime kicked the door open. Nothing. The exact same office they’d seen four times already. Maybe a little bigger. The boss’ office. 

Another cry, so close they were practically on top of it. They wheeled to see a closet, shut. Before he could stop her, Melisandre had run to open it, pulling the sliding door open. 

“Anya?!” She called hopefully. Nothing. Nothing except for a small pink flip phone, that was open and showing some kind of recording symbol. 

Jaime reacted a second too late, diving for the door even as it slammed shut. Worse, the distinctive cha-chunk of a dead bolt sliding into place. From the outside. 

He glanced back over his shoulder. Melisandre stood, frightened eyes staring out of a blank mask, the open flip phone dangling loosely in one hand. Another sob, now a tinny mechanical mockery of pathos, emitted from the speaker. 

It was a trap. They had thought themselves so smart, so prepared. Hunters. When the whole time, they were the hunted. 

Jaime forced himself to find his center, not to panic. They were safe. Locked inside an office, but safe. Only now, they were locked inside an office with all the keys. And everybody else was outside. With Gregor.


	52. Beric (The Mountain 6 of 9)

“Anya?” Beric called cautiously, his whisper dying in the dark recesses of the basement. He took another hesitant step, the light from his cellphone casting an eery halo around him. 

Unlike the above ground floors, the basement did not have the advantage of daylight to ease the worst of their imaginings. Every shadowy corner held a seven foot monster. Every noise marked the sound of a sociopath about to spring. The entire level seemed curiously soundproofed. Although he knew there were at least six other people in this building with them, the only break to the heavy silence was the occasional sound of Thoros moving somewhere to his left.

He was glad Stannis had given them the basement. It seemed far and away the most likely place to stash a frightened little girl. She would have no idea where she was, no sense of the passage of time. No ability to call for help. And even if Sandor was the only one big enough to slow Gregor Clegane down, he was still a sophomore and Beric and Thoros were seniors. It seemed right that they should take on the more dangerous task. And there were two of them. He was sure that whatever horrors the basement held, they could face them together.

“What’s so funny?” Thoros grumbled, shining his own cell phone into Beric’s face.

“Nothing’s funny,” Beric said truthfully.

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m smiling at you.”

“Um, while I’m normally all for capitalizing on alone time in dark rooms, I don’t think this is the best…”

“Oh hush. I’m just glad you’re here with me.”

“Oh,” Thoros pondered that for a moment and threw him back a quick uncertain smile. “Me too.”

Beric scanned the basement again. There were file cabinets scattered about, which created an oddly labyrinthine aspect to the layout. The original labyrinth had been built to keep in a monster hadn’t it? 

There was a large water tank, and several low troughs still filled with an awful murky water. It looked black-green in the cell phone’s glow, and Beric tried to give the troughs a wide birth. There was a mechanical room, which Thoros had now ducked into, which presumably held the elevator machinery and the generator.

Beric rounded the next bend in the file cabinet maze, only to find nothing. He slowly exhaled, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Focus. If you were a psychopath, where would you hide a thirteen year old girl? He hadn’t known about her in advance, so he couldn’t have planned that far ahead. But he’d left the bar before her. Been waiting for her. Lurked until she was alone. He had the keys to the building on his person. To Beric, that suggested that he had done this sort of thing before.

He must have had a car. There was no other explanation for how he’d managed to get a struggling girl  from Hollow Hill all the way to this office park without being spotted. Maybe he kept restraints for this purpose in his car. Put her in the trunk. 

But people came by here. It wasn’t completely abandoned, it had just been vacated. Presumably a groundskeeper stopped by occasionally, an electrician or a mechanic to make sure the building still worked. Wherever he had put her had to be somewhere discrete. Out of the way, but accessible. Where was somewhere that nobody would ever think to look?

His eye fell on the elevator doors, which were oddly partly open. He supposed that didn’t matter—the elevator would have been off for ages. The maw of the elevator was a perfect pitch black, and not even his cell phone flashlight could dispel the darkness. Beric edged closer and swallowed. He had to check inside.

“Anya?” He called again. There was nothing, but that wasn’t dispositive. He took another hesitant step, sliding between the half open doors. The temperature was colder in here, a dull mechanical chill. The light now revealed an ordinary elevator, albeit one stripped of any paneling or carpeting. A metal cage.

A cage without a bird however. Nothing but a stupid plastic crate in the corner.

Beric started to shrug and leave, but lingered. What was a crate doing in the elevator? It had been completely stripped. Hadn’t been used to transport anything in ages. The doors shouldn’t have been open and the elevator should have been completely empty.

He looked at the crate again. It was in the corner. There was no purpose to it, unless you were perhaps going to stand on it? Beric’s gaze slowly drifted upwards to the elevator ceiling. He walked over and stepped on the crate. At six two, his fingers could brush the panels on the ceiling. Panels that could be pushed up to evacuate elevator occupants. And Gregor Clegane was not six two. He was far taller.

“Thoros?” Beric called. “I’m in the elevator, can you come here for a moment?”

“What’s up?” Thoros shuffled inside. He looked completely at ease, but his response time had been much faster than normal.

“I need a boost,” Beric gave him his brightest smile. Thoros looked at the elevator ceiling and sighed, before bracing himself against the wall next to the crate. Beric carefully stepped in the stirrup of Thoros’ laced hands, and from there onto his shoulders, leaning against the side of the elevator to avoid tipping over backwards. 

Now he was practically doubled over to avoid the elevator ceiling and it was simple work to pop one of the panels up and open. It took his eye a second to adjust to the cavernous black that met it, and then with one hand on the edge of the elevator roof, he pulled his phone out with the other and cast the dim blue light around him.

From the corner, two eyes stared back.

“Anya!” Beric shouted, and Thoros shifted and he almost fell back down but regained his balance. The girl, dirty, mouth covered in duct tape, nodded frantically. Beric put his phone down, and struggled up onto the top of the elevator to get to her. 

“Tell Jaime to call the police!” He shouted back down to Thoros and then turned to the girl. “It’s okay, your sister sent us, we’re here to get you out,” he babbled frantically as he tried to work the tape from her mouth without tearing her skin off. She flinched as he finally got it, tears streaking muddy tracks down her face.

“He’s going to kill me,” she whimpered, “please, you have to get me out of here!”

Beric realized her hands were handcuffed behind her to one of the elevator cables. 

“Do you have the key?” He asked.

She shook her head, her lower lip quivering. 

“It’s okay, we’ll get you out of here.” Beric looked around. “Um, hold on,” he began to slide back down into the elevator.

“Don’t leave me,” Anya gasped, the tears starting again in earnest.

“I’m not leaving,” Beric rushed to reassure her. “But my friend will be much more helpful in getting you out of these.” He dropped into the elevator.

“Where is she? Is she okay?”  Thoros demanded as soon as he reappeared. “I texted Jaime, the police should be on their way.”

“She seemed physically fine more or less,” Beric frowned. “But she’s been handcuffed to the elevator cable. Can you pick a handcuff lock?”

“Definitely,” Thoros said grimly, rummaging in his pocket and producing a paperclip. “I’ll have her free in no time.”

Beric laced his hands together to give Thoros a lift and immediately staggered under his weight, the two almost collapsing in a heap. Thoros yelped and grabbed onto his head for balance, completely blinding him. Finally Beric managed to find his footing.

“Thoros, you can let go now,” Beric said, his voice muffled under Thoros’ crotch, which was shoved against his face. Beric thought about making a joke about different circumstances, but then decided his boyfriend probably didn’t need any distractions.

Thoros had cautiously released his grip on Beric’s hair, and was climbing up onto his shoulders. Abruptly, the weight on his back and shoulders lifted as Thoros clambered onto the roof of the elevator. 

Beric dusted himself off and glanced at his phone. He was a little surprised that Jaime and Melisandre hadn’t come down. He texted the group thread letting them know that Anya had been located and was safe. The text was sending slowly, so he extracted himself from the elevator in hopes of better service.

The blow caught him in the jaw.

He staggered backwards into a filing cabinet, and for a second all he saw were fireworks as his vision exploded in bursts of light. Then he recovered in time to see the snarling hulking figure of Gregor Clegane charging.

He dodged the first punch, but the second caught him in the stomach and the air when out of him with a whoosh and he doubled over. The third blow was a chop down to the back of his neck and his chin snapped backwards as it hit the floor. Clegane began kicking him, and he curled into a ball, the blows landing over and over. He was clinging to the shreds of his consciousness, refusing to slip into the dark void that was beckoning at the edges of his mind. 

Remember the highway, the pain. All that waits on the other side is emptiness.

The blows stopped. Gregor Clegane clearly thought him out. He heard a shuffling, the snort-like grunts of Clegane’s heavy breathing, then footsteps. He wasn’t fleeing, he was moving too slowly for that, but the footsteps were receding slightly.

The mechanical room. He was going to the mechanical room. Beric forced himself to roll over, even though his body ached in protest. What was he doing? Behind him, the lights in the elevator flickered on.

Fuck.

Beric twisted to his hands and knees.

He needed to stand up. He needed to get to the mechanical room. If the lights in the elevator were on, that meant Gregor was restoring power to the elevator. If he was restoring power to the elevator...

Beric got up. He could taste blood in his mouth, and clung to the harsh metallic tang. It had a way of cutting through the fog in his mind, focusing his concentration on what had to be done. He shuffled toward the mechanical room.

Behind him, there was a whirring sound, as if an engine was springing to life. He shuffled faster.

Gregor was hunched over a console, the controls looking absurdly small next to his enormous frame. He had activated some security cameras too, and Beric dimly registered that the other six were on the ground floor, Sandor Clegane and Brienne Tarth in the process of breaking down a door.

Then some animal instinct made Gregor start to turn and Beric knew he had one chance to do what needed to be done.

Gregor looked back at him right as Beric’s elbow met his face in a brutal jab. Gregor’s head rocked back, and then he was rising with a roar, looming over Beric with his full, freakishly large height. 

Just distract him. All you need to do is buy enough time for Thoros to get Anya out of there.

Beric swung a punch and Gregor caught it, twisting his arm painfully and driving Beric to his knees.

“Should’ve stayed down,” Gregor laughed, and Beric could feel his fetid breath wash over him. Gregor punched him in the face once—twice—a third time, Beric struggling to get free. Gregor grunted as this game lost interest.

“Maybe you want to watch,” Gregor hissed, and he could feel his fat fingers scrambling along his neck until the brute’s free hand found his collar.

He was dimly aware of being lifted and deposited in front on the controls, but his existence had narrowed to the shooting pain in his arm. He was hooked as neatly as a trout on a line, Gregor’s line.

“See if I can’t have her, nobody gets to have her,” Gregor laughed, and then he hit the button to send the elevator straight to the top.

Beric’s stomach flipped in sick rage as he screamed.

“Right. Your friend was up there too. Well he wasn’t handcuffed. Maybe he makes it down in time.” Clegane shrugged, and then lifted Beric once more, as casually as a child might dangle a rag doll, and then walked toward the troughs of water. “Otherwise two pancakes for the price of one,” he gave a nasty smile. “Either way, can’t see it making much difference to you.”

He thrust Beric’s head into the trough, and Beric fought to break his grip. But no matter how hard he twisted, the hook never broke. Above him, the dark water finally had transformed Clegane’s features into the creature Beric knew had been lurking there all along. Bulky and deformed, skin a mottled green. 

Bubbles escaped from his lips, tickling his skin as they fled upwards, and always, like an ever-tightening vise, the need to breath. 

He tried to hold out, he really did. But you can only keep instinct at bay for so long and then he was gasping for air and only water met him. Choking, thrashing, and then that void, the one that had been waiting for him since the night on the highway. It had never left.

He sank into it regretfully, aware that some lizard brain part of him was still fighting. But the part of him that was Beric Dondarrion was gone.


	53. Thor/Dav (The Mountain 7 of 9)

Thoros taught himself how to pick locks when he was eight. It facilitated the raiding of the temple kitchens. Dried up old cunts always kept the good stuff for themselves.

He wasn’t a master or anything, he wouldn’t even bother to give a combination lock a shot. None of that code cracker shit with your ear against the mechanism, listening for the right numbers. But a basic padlock, like the kind you might find around a new bike in Pentos, that’s easy. 

He broke a friend out of handcuffs once, and himself out of handcuffs twice. All three times for drunk and disorderly conduct. Which really should just prove his innocence. If you are sober enough to get a paper clip out of your sweatshirt pocket and into the hands currently pinned behind your back, and then pick the lock without ever being able to see it—clearly you’re not THAT drunk.

Thoros was talking too much and too loudly on subjects not really suitable for children’s ears, but it helped him focus on the lock, and not the purple bruises that wound up Anya’s arms and might just look like finger prints if you squinted.

Anya’s crying had subsided into the occasional sniffle, and he thought that possibly she preferred he continue his stories and that they helped her not think about certain things too.

Then the elevator light turned on beneath them, and all of a sudden he didn’t need his phone to see anymore. Well that wasn’t good.

He felt the mechanism pop—finally, he was getting rusty—right as the elevator started moving and Anya screamed. 

He yanked her away from the elevator cable more roughly than he meant to, but shit it felt like they were on a boat at sea and all he knew was that they needed to get into the elevator NOW. 

It was maybe four to six seconds to grab her, get her to the hatch and drop through, but it felt weirdly far slower.

He had time to notice things like the specks of green in her eyes or that the elevator cable was as thick as his wrist, or the odd red light that blinked down at them from above.

Then they were falling, and all the air went out of his lungs because Anya landed more or less on his stomach. He groaned.

The elevator doors politely dinged as they opened and Thoros stared out into the hall. Then he was on his feet, because there was only one person in that basement who would have turned on the elevator and it sure wasn’t Beric.

“Davos is waiting for you on the ground floor!” He shouted, vaguely aware that leaving an abuse victim sitting on the floor of an elevator was probably not what the handbook recommended, but fuck, Beric was down there alone with that psycho.

He took the stairs down three and four at a time, each step rattling his joints. How long since he had texted Jaime to call the police? Three minutes? Four? Lord of Light, it felt like it should have been an hour.

He got to the basement, and burst through the door without hesitating, because he and Beric were a team, they could do this, they could stall Gregor Clegane long enough for the police to get here. He was already two or three steps into the room when he saw him, that freakishly overgrown mass of steroids, holding Beric down under the water and laughing as his foot twitched.

His shoulder was in Gregor’s stomach before that image had fully processed, and then Gregor’s knee was in his face before the terror hit. He heard the crunch of his nose and felt the spray of the warm blood against his face, and even as he was collapsing against the water tank, he was aware that Gregor had dropped Beric and he was lying prone some four or five feet away.

He started to crawl toward Beric when he felt a meaty hand grab his leg at the knee and start to drag him backwards. His hands scrabbled uselessly against the floor searching for purchase and then he was swinging upside down, and Gregor was studying him with a sort of cruel interest.

“Too fast to get squashed by the elevator,” Gregor mused. He started walking back to the elevator shaft, now a gaping darkness where the carriage had been. Away from Beric. Thoros tried to grab at his knee, anything to break his hold, but Gregor only laughed and held him further away from his body. 

“Gonna break your leg and try again.” Gregor announced finally, as if this question and not Thoros’ increasingly frantic efforts to get free had been occupying most of his attention.

Then the door slammed open. Thoros couldn’t see who it was because, you know, he was being dangled by a fucking giant, but whomever it was was more interesting than Thoros. 

“Hullo brother,” Gregor grinned, and then Thoros was being casually flung into a file cabinet. Ow. 

Sandor gave an inhuman roar and charged his brother, as Thoros once more scrambled across the floor to Beric’s side. He was dimly aware of the two exchanging blows, but Beric’s skin was cold and clammy to the touch and his lips had turned blue.

Thoros carefully tipped his head back and opened his mouth and a trickle of water poured out. Don’t be dead, don’t be dead. He wasn’t breathing, but when Thoros grabbed for his pulse he thought he felt something, a hummingbird tremor. 

Across from him, Gregor had gotten both hands around Sandor’s neck and appeared to be throttling him.

He put the heel of his hand over Beric’s chest and tried to stop the voice in his head babbling about the statistics of the efficacy or lack thereof of CPR by passers by. He and Melisandre had both been certified as emergency medical responders each year since they were ten at their parents’ insistence. One of the tenets of the red temple was to give aid to the injured. Not that he had ever complained. It had always helped him patch himself up after fights. 

Sandor had managed to drive a pocket knife into Gregor’s shoulder and Gregor released him with a howl of rage. 

Thoros interlaced his fingers and tried to imagine he was giving compressions to one of those stupid practice dummies and that it wasn’t a human heart he was trying to jump start, that it wasn’t Beric’s heart. When he reached thirty, he tipped Beric’s head back again and put a finger under his chin. 

He breathed in, pinched Beric’s nostrils shut, put his mouth on top of Beric’s and breathed out, trying not to think about how icy Beric’s lips felt.

Thirty more chest compressions. Gregor had recovered and was pummeling Sandor, not even bothering to remove the pocketknife from his shoulder.

He breathed in again, and shut his eyes this time. You were supposed to watch the chest, supposed to blow until you saw the chest rise. But he didn’t think he could look at Beric’s body any more. So he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Beric’s and in his mind he mumbled the old rote phrases, because anything was better than listening for a gasp of life that never came. Lord, cast your light upon this man, your servant. Bring him back from death and darkness. His flame has been extinguished, restore it. For the night is dark and full of terrors. Lord, cast your light upon this man...

He ran out of breath and opened his eyes. Nothing. Not sadness, or despair, just a dull empty futility. He sat up and leaned over Beric’s chest to start the compressions again. Nothing. How could that be all there was? He pressed his mouth on Beric’s (what a mockery of a kiss, what a sick joke) and Lord, cast your light upon this man, your servant. Bring him back from death and darkness. His flame has been extinguished, restore it. For the night is dark and full of terrors. Lord, cast your light—

Beric hacked, his entire body convulsing as he retched water from his lungs. His eyes had shot open and then rolled back in his head, and then he came back for a moment and saw Thoros and grabbed his hoodie with one hand. He gagged and coughed again and again, spewing more liquid, Thoros afraid to touch him lest he undo the miracle.

From nothing, something. Had something heard him? Had something answered?

Sandor Clegane was doubled over, but with a growl he charged Gregor low and took him down at the knees. 

Thoros pulled the still coughing Beric into his lap and wrapped his arms around him, as if they were some kind of protective circle that would shield Beric from the fight. Well, the Lord had got him this far. Beric’s body had finally stopped convulsing, and he was drawing in long greedy gulps of oxygen.

Then the door slammed open again and there was a dazzle of light and at least ten police officers stormed in.

“EVERYBODY PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!” Someone shouted.

Hallelujah.

——

Davos checked the fourth office on their floor and tried to stifle a yawn. Nothing. His initial hope at this enterprise was slowly giving way to dejection. Had telling Marya they were on to something been a mistake? He had probably just raised her hopes for no good reason. He didn’t think he could face her expression when he came home empty handed, he really didn’t.

The complete silence of the abandoned building only made the feeling of failure more oppressive. He glanced at Stannis who was working his way down the hallway across from him. Stannis also seemed to be in a mood, not entirely surprising given that Mel was in a huff. Still, Davos refused to ask about it. As long as their fights hadn’t spilled over into his life (and one awkward car ride could hardly be considered that), their business was their business.

“Davos, have you ever lain with a woman?”

Or not.

“First of all, it’s called having sex,” Davos began, frantically trying to stall what was bound to be a deeply uncomfortable conversation.

“Have you had sex?” Stannis rolled his eyes and opened another door. Empty.

“Er yeah,” Davos admitted, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. Occasionally he tagged along on Salladhor’s evenings on the town. There had been one time at a strip club, where he had gotten quite drunk and a girl had pulled him into a private room giggling. He suspected Salladhor had paid her, and it wasn’t his finest hour. He blushed remembering her bottle-blonde hair with the dark roots, chopped jagged into a pixie cut, and her twinkling brown eyes. And the way her body had looked when she had slid her silk negligee off her shoulders and it had fallen to the floor.

“You have?” Stannis seemed dismayed.

“It wasn’t anything special, kind of a one-time deal,” Davos winced. He didn’t want to get too in the weeds on the details—Stannis had never met Salladhor, but somehow he didn’t think he would approve of him or his shenanigans.

“I take it you haven’t,” Davos tried to redirect the conversation back to Stannis. Stannis shook his head.

“Is that why you and Mel aren’t talking?”

Stannis raked his hand through his hair.

“I don’t know. I told her I thought the first time should be special. She kind of froze up.”

Davos opened his mouth to inquire whether Stannis seriously thought it was Melisandre’s first time, when his phone went off.

_Gregor sighted, we’re locked in an office, send help._

Stannis looked up from reading the same text and their eyes met there briefly. It was from Jaime, but there was no doubt who was in his mind as Stannis promptly dashed for the stairwell.

“Hey!” Davos ran after him. “We’re supposed to stay together!”

He was on Stannis’ heels as they burst onto the ground floor, Stannis looking wildly in either direction. No Gregor. There was an enormous thud behind him as Sandor Clegane took the last five stairs at a flying leap.

“Where is he?!” Sandor snarled.

“I don’t know, which office are they in?!” Stannis started scanning wildly. A pounding sound from the far end of the hall answered the question. He covered the distance, and Davos let Sandor back him up. Brienne finally showed up, panting slightly.

Stannis had reached the right door and was throwing his weight against it with little success. Sandor gave a snort.

“Why don’t you leave the heavy lifting to me?” He sneered, and threw his shoulder against it. The door gave a resounding crack.

Davos slowed to a walk as he watched Sandor slowly break down the door through sheer strength and stubbornness. Brienne in contrast sped up and threw her own weight behind the enterprise. The crack turned to a splintering groan, and Sandor shot Brienne an approving look. Davos reminded himself to never get on either’s bad side.

Finally, the door gave way, and Stannis was practically inside before Sandor had fallen through.

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” He demanded of Melisandre.

“I’m fine,” Melisandre raised her hands placatingly. “I didn’t even get a good look at him.”

“I should have kept you with me and Davos, I can’t believe I put you in danger after—“

“Stannis, I’m FINE,” she promised. “I was as safe as any of us were.”

“I’m great if anyone cares,” Jaime Lannister said sarcastically. “Where’s Anya? Thoros said they found her?”

Everyone looked around blankly.

“Doesn’t anyone check their phone?” Jaime huffed, waving the text in their faces.

“We were a little busy breaking you out,” Stannis crossed his arms defensively.

“Right, well I called the police. Who knows about their response time, the Lannister name doesn’t have quite the same cachet of late.”

There was a pause. Davos glanced at the time stamp. Seven minutes ago. 

“Shouldn’t they be here by now?” Davos asked a little nervously.

Then the door opened. From the stairwell, a slip of a girl stumbled out. 

“Anya!” Davos felt a wave of overwhelming relief crash over him. “You’re okay!”

He ran to her and she flung herself into his arms. For a second he just held her, felt her trembling uncontrollably.

“It’s going to be alright, I’m taking you back to your sister, we’ve called the police, we’re going to get him, don’t worry,” he murmured ceaselessly, stroking her hair.

Finally Anya pulled away.

“You have to help them,” she said. Davos looked at her quizzically, not sure what she meant or if she was even lucid after what she had been through.

“The other boys, the ones who found me,” she pressed, her hazel eyes fixed on his.

Davos suddenly realized that she was the only person who had come through the door and shivered. 

Fortunately he was not the only one who heard what she said.

“I’m on it,” Sandor Clegane said darkly, and then he disappeared, heading back to the basement.

Jaime peered between the boards of plywood over one of the windows. 

“I see four police cars and an ambulance coming up the drive,” he announced.

After that, things happened very quickly. There was some brief confusion as to who they all were and what they were doing in an abandoned office park (perhaps not helped by Jaime’s assertion that this was his family’s building and he could bring whomever he liked here whenever he liked) and then the police officers hurried for the basement.

A paramedic approached Anya tentatively. She was a middle aged woman with a kind face.

“Miss? We’d like to take you to the hospital if that’s okay? We’ve contacted your family, and you have some sisters who are very anxious to see you. Would you like that?”

Anya, who had been more or less stoic throughout the ordeal burst into tears, nodding frantically.

“Can you walk?”

More nodding.

“Okay, right this way, Miss,” the paramedic briskly ushered them out the main doors and into the sunny afternoon. Anya still had not let go of Davos’ hand, and Davos walked with her, taking deep grateful breaths of the fresh December air. It was bitingly cold, a reminder that winter had at last come down hard on King’s Landing.

“Can Davos come with me?” Anya asked shyly, as they lifted her into the ambulance as carefully as they might have once carried a princess on a divan.

The paramedic spared a glance at him and a quick smile.

“Of course he can. You have good friends, Miss, and that’s important.”

That was more or less what Marya said, after the emotional reunion between the sisters, and after the nurses had whisked Anya away for a physical exam.

“You’re such a good friend, Davos,” she whispered, throwing her arms around him. Her breath tickled his neck, and he was aware of her chest pressed against him.

“Anyone would have done it,” he mumbled uncomfortably. Ask her out dumbass.

“Literally nobody but you would have ever done it,” Marya shook her head at him. 

Ask her out. Ask her out.

“I was happy to help,” he managed. She looked at him and then opened her mouth. She hesitated, switching her weight from one foot to the other.

“Davos—would—would you maybe like to get dinner with me sometime?”

For a moment he was dumbstruck. Words. He needed words. 

“Yes,” he finally managed, aware that his voice had cracked. “Yes I would.”


	54. Stan/Bri (The Mountain 8 of 9)

Stannis was at the hospital. This was not his first choice of locations.

Once the second ambulance had arrived for Beric, Thoros had been hell-bent on driving Beric’s car after them. Stannis had tried to protest that they wouldn’t let him into the room, that he wasn’t related, but Thoros had glared at him and for the first time Stannis had seen the family resemblance to Melisandre.

He supposed he could have hitched a ride with Brienne back to the Stormlands, but she had committed to dropping off Clegane and Jaime Lannister first. And Clegane was snarling about the bastards giving him five more minutes to finish him off and Jaime was glumly on and off the phone with his father, who had received a series of alarming phone calls from law enforcement.

At the prospect of facing an irate Tywin Lannister whose property he had just broken into, Stannis decided he would rather go to the hospital with Melisandre and Thoros.

He considered himself a composed and self-possessed person, hardly the type of teenager who shriveled under an adult glare. But Stannis had yet to meet the person, man or child, who could survive Tywin Lannister’s discomfiting stare unscathed. To be actually guilty of something and have to face him? Well it was unsettling.

He idly wondered how Robert dealt with it on a regular basis. Not quite as well as he let on, Stannis suspected, but Robert had a confrontational approach to conflict. Stannis preferred avoidance.

He glanced over at Melisandre, who sat calmly in the seat next to him.

As predicted, Thoros had gotten about as far as the waiting room. A borderline hostile orderly had repeatedly explained that only family members or those accompanied by family members could be in the room.

That it was accompanied by a sneer and a pointed glance at the dried blood crusting Thoros’ face and his ragged hoodie had probably not improved the situation.

Then Beric’s parents had showed up. Stannis did not know them well, and when he politely introduced himself, Beric’s mother and father exchanged glances.

“You’re Robert’s brother,” his mother had smiled tightly, and Stannis was irked to learn that his brother’s reputation preceded him.

“And who are you two?” His father turned to the Asshais. Thoros had been frantically scrubbing at the flakes of blood on his face with his sleeve while their backs were turned, and now managed a wary smile.

“Hi, I’m Thoros, Beric’s friend, and this is my sister Melisandre,” he said sticking out his hand. Dondarrion Senior gave it a tepid shake and the mother sniffed.

“We’ve heard about you too,” she said, and it was clear that Thoros did not rate any higher than Robert in her book. Thoros looked unaccountably dismayed, and Melisandre drew herself up to her full height.

“I should hope so, since he just saved your son’s life,” she snapped and then flounced to a seat in the waiting room. The Dondarrions were spared having to answer by the arrival of another orderly, who ushered them past the yellow line that kept visitors at bay. At no point had they asked if anybody wanted to accompany them to see Beric.

Thoros had sulked off after that, ostensibly to find a bathroom to wash off, but more likely to scout methods of breaking into Beric’s room by force.

Leaving Stannis and Melisandre. Alone.

“Can I talk to you outside for a minute,” Melisandre asked finally.

Stannis dreaded whatever conversation they were about to have, but was grateful that at least the silence was broken and they could leave the stifling stuffiness of the hospital waiting room.

They walked aimlessly through the lobby until they found a pretty little outdoor courtyard. _The Blackfyre Memorial Garden_ , a plaque read.

Melisandre found a bench and patted the seat next to her. Feeling as if he were marching into the guns of a firing squad, Stannis approached.

“I wanted to talk about our conversation this morning,” Melisandre began uncertainly. Of course she did. Stannis could have smacked himself in the face. What had he been thinking, admitting that he was still a virgin. What if she thought he was a prude? Her entire religion seemed to be some kind of wild orgy loving sex cult after all. What if she didn’t want to date him any more? 

“You seemed kind of freaked out,” she said, putting her hand on his leg. Understatement. He had been trying to suppress the knowledge that Melisandre might be expecting something more from this relationship, and sooner rather than later. He remembered the outfit she had worn on their date, how she had basically given him a lap dance in her bikini in the hot tub... he blushed. He was such a fool.

“Hey,” Melisandre pushed him lightly. “We can talk about this. You know I don’t care right?”

Stannis looked up, startled.

“You don’t?” He blurted. She laughed.

“No! Not at all! I was surprised that’s all. I knew you’d had a girlfriend last year, and in case you haven’t noticed,” her voice dropped and she leaned in to whisper into his ear, “you’re kind of hot.”

Stannis blushed harder.

“You are the only one who’s ever thought so,” he assured her. Melisandre raised an eyebrow.

“I think you’d be surprised how many girls dig the tall dark and brooding thing,” she said. “But I just want you to know,” she continued coyly, her voice treacle sweet, “if any of them lay a hand on you, they’re losing that hand”

Stannis gave her a wry smile.

“They’d have to catch me first. I have no interest in anyone but you. I don’t think I could fight these alleged admirers but I would certainly run from them.”

Melisandre smiled back tentatively.

“So we’re clear that it doesn’t matter to me that you haven’t done it. Does it matter to you that I have?”

Stannis frowned.

“Of course not! Why would you think that?!”

“Um because when I told you, you said sex should be special and then you kind of backed away from me and then didn’t talk to me all day?” Melisandre crossed her arms. Oh. Well yes, he could see how, in a certain light, he might have given that erroneous impression.

Stannis clasped her hand between both of his, turning on the bench so he was fully facing her.

“Nothing you did before we met could ever bother me,” he said simply and sincerely.

She smiled for real then. He loved how she smiled when she was genuinely happy, how it made her eyes dance. He kissed her lightly.

“And I know when we do have sex, it will be special. Because it’ll be you and me,” he said earnestly. Melisandre laughed and pulled him into a deeper kiss, wrapping her hand around the back of his head. He closed his eyes, enjoying the taste of her lips, the sweetness of her tongue.

“And I want you to know that I’m not in any rush,” Melisandre replied, finally breaking their embrace. “Whenever is good for you is good for me.”

Stannis smiled at her, feeling for the first time all day like a weight had been lifted from his chest.

“Now let’s go find Thoros before he breaks a window,” Melisandre rolled her eyes.

—————

For someone who looked like he had lost a bare knuckle boxing match with a bear and had quite possibly just sent his brother to prison, Sandor Clegane was in a surprisingly good mood. 

“Lannister, Tarth,” he nodded to them as they dropped him off, which from Clegane was tantamount to a tearful goodbye.

“Into the lion’s den,” Jaime joked, as Brienne took the turn to the palatial Lannister estates.

“I’m sure he’s just worried about your welfare,” Brienne tried to reassure him.

“I’m sure he’s just worried about how this will look in tomorrow’s press. I can see the headlines now: Rapist with Lannister connections abducts teen girl; Police stage daring rescue raid on Lannister headquarters,” Jaime sighed.

“Maybe,” Brienne bit her lip. She didn’t know Jaime’s family that well, but she knew they were complicated even by the notoriously high Center Table standards. She had always felt sorry for the Baratheon boys—their parents were gone more often than they were present—only she couldn’t help but wonder what Jaime would be like if Tywin Lannister shared a similar disinterest in his children. He would probably be a far more normal, well-adjusted young man. But he wouldn’t be Jaime.

“You know, when you were in the hospital he was nearly beside himself,” she said softly. He hadn’t even left the hospital to sleep. None of them had. 

“I’m supposed to be his legacy, you see,” Jaime looked unimpressed. “He doesn’t care about Cersei because she can’t carry on the family name and Tyrion doesn’t look the part. No doubt he was terrified that I might be permanently injured. He doesn’t want more damaged goods to take care of.”

Brienne abruptly took his left hand with her right one, glad that she was driving so as to be spared the expression of surprise on his face. But if he were taken aback at the gesture, he gave no sign. Instead he squeezed it tightly.

“I think he might care more than either of you want to admit,” Brienne said softly. “You know I lost my mom in a car accident—it was actually my mom and my younger brother. I was five at the time.”

“I never knew,” Jaime turned to look at her, his face bright with sympathy. Jaime whose family had just been disgraced via national newspaper, had gotten out of the hospital, had one functional hand, and was about to be chewed out by his father. All he cared about was her poor family tragedy, some ten years gone on an icy road. Why did nobody see the Jaime Lannister that she saw, the utterly selfless and honorable boy who tried to hide his goodness with sarcasm and boredom?

“I don’t talk about it much,” Brienne said. “It happened a long time ago, but it can still be hard to think about. The thing is, as hard as it was for me, it was a million times harder for my dad. He blamed himself. It was so stupid—it wasn’t like there was anything he could have done—but he thought it was his job to protect us and he had failed. And it made him really paranoid with me. He used to make me call him when I left school and call him when I got home, so he would know if the bus had been delayed. Once I forgot to let him know I was going to Renly’s, and when he came home and found me missing he called the police. And he was furious with me! I don’t pretend to know everything that’s happened between you and your father but I saw him that night in the hospital.”

“Don’t tell me he cried,” Jaime said drily.

“No,” Brienne admitted. “He was terrifying. He had a surgeon flying half way around the world on a private jet, half a dozen doctors on conference call with your attending physician, and was threatening to pull foundation funding if they didn’t find you a private room.”

“Yeah, that sounds more like him,” Jaime sighed.

“But people react differently when they’re scared. And it reminded me of how mad my father was at me when I’d been at Renly’s. Because he thought I was in trouble, and he was petrified. So maybe, just maybe, your father is actually pissed because you could have been hurt?” Brienne suggested gently.

Jaime was studying her face. Brienne wished she could turn away from the road for more than a second to really look at him, to meet his gaze. 

“How do you always find the best in people, wench?” Jaime mused. 

“There’s good in most people, if you take the time to look,” Brienne said firmly. 

“Even Gregor Clegane?” Jaime teased.

“Well, maybe not Gregor Clegane,” Brienne scowled at the memory of that scared little girl being helped into the ambulance. She was safe now. And granted they all had helped, but it was by and large Jaime who had saved the day.

“You were wonderful today,” Brienne told him. 

“Aren’t I always?” Jaime deflected jokingly, as he always did when someone tried to say something nice to him for once. But Brienne pressed on. “You figured out where she was, and you got us the keys, and you called the police. Maybe the others didn’t notice, but I did. You saved the day,” Brienne said firmly.

“Just a regular super hero,” Jaime shrugged.

“You are. My hero,” Brienne gave him a quick smile.

Jaime cleared his throat and looked out the window.

“Say, Tyrion’s been bringing me chocolate milkshakes every day from that diner and I’ve kind of developed an addiction. What do you say your hero takes you there one night? Like on a date?”

Mortifyingly, Brienne felt the old blush light up her skin. She hadn’t blushed around Jaime in ages, not since those first days when he would walk next to her and tease her relentlessly and try to open doors for her and carry her things. But now it was back, creeping down from her cheeks. 

“I’d like that,” she managed.

“Good. You need to get better heroes by the way.”

She loved the way he wrinkled his nose when he smiled.

“Um, speaking of the hospital,” she swallowed. She didn’t even want to bring it up. He’d said the word date. Wasn’t that enough? But she had thought Sadie Hawkins might have been a date, and look where that got her. 

“Don’t tell, you stole prescription meds too?” Jamie joked. Then he stopped when he saw how nervous she looked. “What about the hospital?”

“Do you um, remember…” Brienne’s palms were sweaty and she wiped them on her jeans. “Do you remember that night? How you um, kissed me?” Her voice cracked on the last note.

“Wench,” Jaime raised his eyebrows. Brienne gulped. He leaned forward, looking serious. “Do you think I could forget something like that?” 

What? 

Brienne blinked. He smirked. 

“But maybe you wanted to remind me.”

The second time their lips met, Brienne knew it wasn’t the painkillers.


	55. Thoros (The Mountain 9 of 9)

At the hospital, they’d said Beric only had to stay for twenty-four hours, so they could monitor him for signs of pneumonia or acute respiratory distress. But once he’d been discharged from the hospital, his mother had whisked him back to their Stormlands mansion, and he’d been on bed rest for another two days.

This was all to say that it had been three days since Thoros had seen his boyfriend and he missed him terribly.

Beric seemed subdued on the phone, and Thoros had not had the nerve to ask if his parents had mentioned meeting him. He was aware that he might not have made the best impression. When he had finally made it to the men’s room (after an aborted mission to get behind enemy lines that had involved lifting an orderly’s nametag and getting all the way to the second floor, where Beric was, before he was caught) he had realized that his nose was a swollen disgusting mess, and he had the beginnings of a black eye.

His sweatshirt—which he had JUST cleaned—was spattered with blood, and even his hair had managed to break free of the top knot and could have served quite ably as a bird’s nest.

So maybe the stink eye that Beric’s mother had given him was not quite unwarranted, but that didn’t mean she could keep them apart forever! Did it? What if it did? Would Beric date someone his parents disapproved of, even if they didn’t actually know he was dating them?

Clearly an expedition to the Stormlands was in order.

He called Hollow Hill claiming to be sick, and then persuaded Robert to let him hitch a ride. That car never got old. He wished he hadn’t been in such a funk the one time he had actually gotten to drive it—and that he hadn’t been sworn to secrecy over the whole incident, otherwise he would definitely regale Robert with his many thoughts on driving a sports car.

“I can’t believe you didn’t invite me,” Robert was sulking.

“You had football practice!” Thoros protested. “And it wasn’t exactly a planned social gathering.”

“It was a posse! I’ve always wanted to be part of a posse and bring an outlaw to justice!” Robert continued to whine. “Did you hear that Gregor’s going to be tried as an adult? He’s looking at real jail time! If you had texted me, I would have totally bailed on practice.”

“Aren’t you kind of important to team practices?” Thoros scratched his head. He still didn’t really get this whole football thing, but Robert had gotten the ball almost every time at Homecoming.

“I can’t believe Stannis got to be part of the posse and I didn’t. Seven hells, Jaime Lannister got to be part of the posse! He only has one good hand!”

“Fine, the very next posse I form, you will be the first person I call,” Thoros promised.

“I’d better be,” Robert growled darkly. “No good little brothers stealing my posse...” he continued under his breath.

“Oh look, we’re here!” Thoros said with fake enthusiasm as they pulled into Robert’s long driveway, in a feeble attempt to distract him. Fortunately, Robert was easily distracted.

“Hey, did I tell you my dad’s thinking of investing in a brewery? They sent us a crate of their latest winter ales, want to try some?”

Thoros was sorely tempted, but the thought of Beric pining away in his bedroom made him antsy. Love triumphs over all, even winter ales.

“Maybe later, if you’re around?”

“Sure, I’ll call Cersei, have her bring some friends over. Bring Dondarrion, we’ll have a party,” Robert grinned. “I promise a two girls per guy ratio at minimum. It might not be enough to get Dondarrion laid but I haven’t given up hope for you!”

“Thanks Robert,” Thoros rolled his eyes, wondering if Robert would act any differently if he knew the truth. Probably not.

“I’m serious! I always thought you were making the wrong call on Elia—who has time for all that intellectual nonsense—and then your buddy Tormund grabbed my sure thing, but I’m still scouting options for you!”

“I can take care of myself,” Thoros tried to wave him off, but Robert was not to be deterred.

“The point isn’t to take care of yourself, it’s to find a girl who will care of that for you,” Robert grinned salaciously. “C’mon, let me help. I’m dying over here, let me channel my sexual frustration into being the world’s most amazing wingman. Which I totally am.”

“Why are YOU dying, you and Cersei are up on top of each other all the time,” Thoros frowned.

“Eh girl’s a tease,” Robert snorted. “All I want is to set you and Dondarrion up, is that too much to ask?” Thoros mentally snorted at his phrasing.

“I don’t know if Beric is up for a big party, but I’ll see,” he cautioned. Really, if Beric was going to insist on keeping their relationship a secret, he kind of deserved Robert dumping an endless parade of scantily clad women on them.

“Excellent,” Robert slapped him on the back. “Do you want a bottle for the road?”

Thoros hopped from foot to foot.

“Fine, get me one for the road,” he admitted defeat. Love definitely still triumphs over most other things. Just not winter ales.

He walked along the beach to Beric’s house, shivering at how cold it was getting. He wondered if it would snow this year—snow was hit or miss in King’s Landing. He tended to hope not. As fun as missing a day of class would be, Thoros was already content to miss class on far flimsier pretexts and he had had enough snow in Ibben to last a lifetime.

Finally he reached the mansion he wanted. As he had noticed on his last disastrous trip, the walls were a roughly hewn sandstone. Perfect for climbing, and he knew exactly which one was Beric’s balcony.

With tender care he replaced the cap on his exquisitely malty drink and tucked it into the back of his jeans. Then up he went, hand over hand, with the easy confidence of a person who has spent a lifetime getting into places they weren’t supposed to go.

When he finally hoisted himself on to the balcony, he took a moment to celebrate his success with another sip of his beer. Then he politely knocked on the door to Beric’s bedroom.

There was a pause, and then Beric appeared, looking bewildered, in a pair of natty silk pajamas. Thoros enjoyed watching the expressions flicker across his face—delight, alarm, amused resignation. Then he opened the door.

“What are you doing here?” Beric tried to sound stern but his eye sparked with happiness.  
`   
“Oh you know, I was in the neighborhood, thought I’d drop by on my favorite invalid,” Thoros waved the hand with the beer airily. Beric snatched it and took a sip for himself.

“How did you get up here? Did you climb?” He asked, peering over the edge.

“Well I asked, but alas my fair maiden did not throw down her long hair,” Thoros teased.

“If I have a choice of being your lord or your fair maiden, I’m choosing your lord,” Beric warned.

“What ever my sweet summer lord wishes,” Thoros smirked.

“No adjectives!”

“My poor sweet invalid summer lord.”

Beric rolled his eyes.

“Let’s get you inside before someone sees us.”

Once they were more comfortably ensconced in Beric’s bed, and Thoros’ fears of being dumped on parental orders were allayed, he could take the time to inspect his boyfriend.

He looked fully recovered. His color was good, he seemed a little subdued but otherwise in good spirits, and was currently resting his head on Thoros’ shoulder, still holding the bottle away from him.

“How are you feeling?” Thoros asked, wrapping his arm around Beric’s shoulders and stealthily using that hand to make a grab for the drink.

Beric, not even looking, casually moved it out of reach.

“Fine. A little odd I guess.”

“Odd? In what way?” Thoros halted his quest and gave Beric a suspicious look.

“Not physically,” Beric sighed and lifted his head up off his shoulder. “Just... I’m seventeen years old and I’ve died twice. Kind of seems like the universe doesn’t want me around.” He sounded sad.

“Fuck the universe,” Thoros wrapped his arms around him and hugged him tightly, enjoying the solid warmth of his body, very much alive. “I want you around.”

Beric leaned in to the hug, and Thoros felt his sigh, a slow exhaled beneath his arms.

“You know, when I came back this time...” Beric swallowed. “There was a second where I couldn’t remember anything but you. Literally anything. I tried to remember my name and it was like trying to hold water. I couldn’t remember my name or where I was or WHO I was. But I remembered your face and I knew you were Thoros and I knew I was safe.”

Thoros was quiet. He remembered Beric clutching at his hoodie as if it were a life preserver in a stormy sea. 

“You’re my person,” Beric said, a little shyly, and Thoros knew he was saying something else.

“You’re my person too,” Thoros kissed his shoulder, the only part of Beric he could reach from this angle. R’hllor had brought him back. Thoros had asked and R’hllor had answered, and the dizzying ramifications of trying to repay that debt when he was going to leave the temple left him cold. But what they had been given was a gift, a gift he would cherish to the utmost of his ability. “Remember on the beach when we were playing your silly drinking game?”

“You just think it was silly because I won,” Beric scoffed.

“We both won!”

“Only because you cheated,” Beric snuggled closer. “Keep going.”

“I had to drink because I wouldn’t tell you the biggest thing I haven’t told my parents.”

“Is it that you like guys too? I figured that one out on my own.”

“Hush,” Thoros tweaked his nose. “I’m getting out of the red temple,” he admitted. Just saying it felt liberating. He had always known he was, and Melisandre had known for almost as long as that, but he’d never actually come out and said it like that.

Beric shifted in his arms.

“Your parents will be pretty mad yeah?” he said cautiously, his brow furrowed. Thoros knew he didn’t have enough background information to fully understand what this admission meant, what kind of chaos it would unleash on Thoros’ life.

“My parents will never speak to me again,” Thoros said calmly, stroking Beric’s hair. “Nobody in the temple will. I’d lose the apartment, the scholarship if I still had it, my job if it were temple affiliated. And that’s assuming I got away with it. Lots of people who are planning on leaving... disappear for a while. And they come back good programmed little foot soldiers who can bag groceries at the supermarket and not much else.”

Beric pulled himself to an upright sitting position, and Thoros took the opportunity to finally steal back his drink.

“They won’t take you away,” Beric said indignantly. “I won’t let them.” Thoros didn’t have the heart to tell him that the red temple wasn’t in the habit of asking permission. Instead he took a swig of beer and discovered most of the bottle empty.

“I should have brought you one of your own,” he said, finishing it and holding it up to his eye like a telescope to look for leftover drops. Then he turned his new telescope and trained it on Beric. Beric batted it away.

“I prefer sharing yours,” Beric said loftily.

“Anyway, this isn’t until Melisandre graduates high school in two years,” Thoros put the bottle down. “But I was thinking it’d be wise to get out of King’s Landing for a while. Go somewhere. Say, the town wherever you end up going to school,” he said tentatively.

Beric looked blank for a second and Thoros got nervous.

“You promise you’re not just saying that because you think it’s what I want?” Beric turned to him, brushing a flyaway strand out of Thoros’ face. “I know how much you hate moving around all the time.”

“It’s only three years,” Thoros shrugged. “And you’ll have been there for a year to get the lay of the land. If you hate it, we can reevaluate.”

“I won’t hate it if you’re there,” Beric grinned. Thoros wanted to tell him that his smiles were like sunlight, how they lit up a room, but he didn’t want to seem too girly. He kissed him instead, laughing to himself as he finally found the last drops of the winter ale on Beric’s lips.

That inspired him taste other parts of Beric’s body, and he slid down the bed, snagging the waistband of his pants and pulling them down with him.

“Hey, my parents are downstairs!” Beric said, although whether the sharp intake of breath was annoyance or a reaction to Thoros’ tongue was unclear.

“Guess you’d better be quiet then,” Thoros said nonchalantly, licking a stripe along Beric’s inner thigh and then blowing on it. Beric shifted uncomfortably at the teasing stimulation so close to the right place.

“Or did you want me to stop?” Thoros inquired. Beric opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, Thoros’ tongue found him.

His cock twitched, and Thoros sucked approvingly. Beric gasped.

He finally responded by pulling the comforter up over them. Now buried in darkness, Thoros took that as a sign to carry on.

Beric moaned, a low throaty noise that sent a shiver of lust into Thoros’ own lower region. A hand found its way under the covers to tangle in his hair and Thoros hummed acknowledgment. Beric’s hips rolled in a shallow thrust. Thoros gagged briefly at the unexpected depth and pinned him down more firmly before continuing to work, enjoying the sounds he was coaxing out. He could do this all day. 

As it turned out though, that was not necessary. It was only a few minutes before Beric’s body started to seize beneath him.

“I’m so close,” Beric panted, and the bed creaked loudly.

Thoros withdrew his mouth with a pop.

“I told you to be quiet,” he mock scolded.

The fingers in his hair gave a warning tug.

“You can’t stop! It’s unpriestly.”

Thoros gave him a meditative lick.

“Why is that?”

“You’re interrupting a religious experience,” Beric managed.

Thoros laughed at that.

“I always knew I would make a bad priest,” he riposted before returning to his post. Beric let out a ragged breath and finished almost immediately, spilling into his mouth. He was flushed and breathing heavily when Thoros crawled back up the bed to collapse next to him. Beric turned his head to look at him with exasperated fondness.

“Trying to kill me again?”

“I would bring you back,” Thoros grinned and prayed that he was right.


	56. Cersei (A Winter's Tale 1 of 9)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A certain POV back by popular demand!

Cersei knew the moment she hugged him that something was off. Of late, he had been so sexually frustrated that even an embrace could get him hard. She had to admit that on some level she enjoyed that. The great Robert Baratheon, brought to his knees. 

This time however, he hugged her briefly, and took her books without comment, his eyes not even flickering down to the scoop neck tank top, featuring a not so demure peek at the swell of her breasts.

“Who is she?” Cersei asked through clenched teeth, pasting a bright smile on as they began walking down the hall.

“Who is who?” Robert retorted from the side of his mouth as he slung an arm around her shoulders.

“The whore you’re sleeping with,” Cersei hissed, waving at little Lysa Tully, who beamed at being singled out for such an honor.

“Just because you’re a frigid bitch doesn’t mean I’m cheating on you,” Robert muttered back before exchanging fist bumps with an Estermont.

“What did you just call me?!” Cersei touched his free hand in a pretense of affection, digging her nails into the fleshy part of his wrist. He slid the arm up to her neck, where he pinched the nerves in the back hard.

“Did I stutter, bitch?” Robert murmured into her ear.

Cersei tilted her head back and laughed affectionately. 

“I’m going to find her and I’m going to ruin her life,” she smiled sweetly.

“You can’t prove shit,” he kissed her on the forehead and returned her books as they reached her classroom.

“Are you driving me home after school?” Cersei asked.

“Sure, pick you up at the library?” Robert checked his watch.

“Thanks sweetie.”

“Love ya babe.”

When Robert was driving her home, she discretely dropped her smart watch into the side pocket of the passenger’s seat.

He kissed her absent mindedly as she was getting out of the car, and she let him even though nobody was around to see. That had been something that had been happening more often lately. Two and a half months into their contract, and kissing him felt normal. Nice even. But it wasn’t like she cared about him. He was a lackey, and him cheating on her was an insult to her intelligence, an open flouting of their contract, and a reminder that he was not a particularly obedient lackey and therefore of limited utility. It was annoying, that was all. She didn’t care beyond the fact that she was annoyed, and she didn’t like being annoyed. Frowning caused wrinkles.

She would find this little harlot, she would punish her, and then she would end things on her terms. 

Cersei briefly examined the bleak gray sky from her window. It had been miserably cold all of December, and now they were calling for snow before New Year's. The sky reflected her mood. Okay, maybe she was a little more than annoyed. 

Did she have any right to be? Maybe she had grown mildly fond of Robert. He thought she was funny. Nobody had ever noticed that she was funny except for Jaime, and he hadn’t been around to laugh at her jokes in a long time. 

Robert thought she was funny and smart. Admittedly he also thought she was evil, but some tiny part of him was into that. And some not so tiny part of him was almost as bad. Cersei ground her teeth—despite all odds, she had genuinely been enjoying their fake relationship. And now he had to go and ruin it because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.

She eyed her reflection. Her hair looked as lustrously thick and golden as ever. Her eyes large and bright, her lips full and parted ever so slightly. She was every high school male’s wet dream. Except, apparently, Robert. If she had slept with him, would it have been different?

Oddly, she didn’t find the though as repellant as she once did. He was quite handsome after all. Those broad shoulders, the muscular arms and six pack. And the shaggy black hair and blue eyes, the boyish grin. She wondered how she had gone her entire life and never noticed the appeal of those attributes. Her knight in shining armor had always been blond for some reason.

Well it was too late. He had cheated on her, disrespected her, and she would not let that stand. She idly logged into the find-my-phone app and used it to check the location of her smart watch. It was at Robert’s house in the Stormlands. Some part of her yearned to hope. That maybe he wasn’t really cheating, what was she basing it on, a quick hug? Weren’t hugs allowed to be quick? 

No. He was cheating. Cersei was never wrong about these things. Granted, one could argue that he was not so much cheating as in breach of contract, but still! Did his word mean nothing to him?! 

She had finished most of her homework at the library. She polished the rest off now and then continued to brood. It was too cold to be outside. They had closed the pool ages ago. Jaime was off chasing his giant lady love and her father was at work. She neither knew nor cared where Tyrion was. She decided to apply a face mask and a coconut oil treatment to her hair.

Who was it? Who was the nasty little vixen who thought she could get her claws into what rightfully belonged to Cersei? Nobody at school. She ruled those mewling little lemmings with an iron fist. No, her nemesis was someone further afield. Not that that would save her.

With the face mask on, she looked like some kind of alien, her eyes even larger than normal. Not an alien, a primordial creature of vengeance.

She checked the location of her watch again. Still at Robert’s house. An idea struck her, and she quickly dialed the Baratheon home number.

Three rings and then a young voice said “Hello?”

“Hi Renly, it’s Cersei,” she cooed. “I’m trying to catch Robert, is he home?”

“No he’s out,” Renly said disinterestedly. Hmmmm. Either he had found the watch or he hadn’t taken the Bugatti. Probably the latter—not even Robert was dumb enough to take the world’s most recognizable vehicle on his AWOL excursions.

“Do you know where he went?” Cersei asked idly. Worth a shot.

“Nope.” Obnoxious little pissant.

“Thanks Renny-poo,” she laid it on extra thick and then hung up.

Next she logged into Godswood, a subscription only private detective service platform that she’d found incredibly useful over the years. She pulled up the Baratheon family DMV records. Four cars. Two were Steffon and Cassana’s. One was the Bugatti. One was a Saab that was at least fifteen years old. Bingo.

She checked Robert’s social media profile, rolling her eyes at his profile picture (him and Ned hugging). She had told him that he had to change it to one of him and her a million times. At least his bio clearly read “In a relationship with Cersei Lannister”.

She looked at his recent photos, mostly from football games. They had won the division championship last week against Gulltown, marking the end of the football season. There was a photo from Saturday of Robert kissing the ridiculously oversized trophy. Sixteen girls had liked it. Cersei pulled out some loose leaf and diligently wrote down their names.

Ten of the girls went to King’s Landing Prep. Cersei did not judge them to be threats, but made a mental note to monitor them for signs of disloyalty going forward. That was her boyfriend’s photo they were liking, after all.

Two of the girls were college students, one at Winterfell and one at Sunspear. Doubtful that either was the culprit unless one of them had ridden a dragon to King’s Landing and back.

One was a cousin. And then there were three.

Dancy Chataya. Delena Florent. Mhaegen Barr.

Cersei sucked her pen thoughtfully. 

Dancy Chataya was the most attractive of the three. Delena Florent did not attend KLP, but had cousins who did. Conceivably she could have been at the football game. Mhaegen was the youngest and had a particularly vacuous look to her face.

After a moment or two of hesitation, Cersei chose the stupid one.

A quick spin through Godswood revealed that she lived in Iron Port because of course she did. Now the real question. What outfit does one wear to confront a cheating scum bag and Trashy McWhore?

Cersei went with black leather pants that looked painted on her slim hips and long legs. Stiletto boots. Silky red top. Blood red lipstick. She toyed with the idea of a jacket—it was significantly below freezing—but her arms looked great in this top and she had always been willing to suffer for fashion.

The drive to Iron Port took maybe twenty minutes, and the address was a grim townhouse with paint peeling off the walls in poisonous little curls. She would have doubted the destination, so depressing was the scene, had there not been an early nineties Saab parked across the street. 

She did so love being right.

Finding parking for the Range Rover was more of a challenge. Compact it was not. She finally ended up near the wharves, in a vacant lot of packed dirt that she could only assume was for parking.

The march back to the Saab chilled her to the marrow, and she had to clench her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering, but the brisk clip of her stiletto heels on the pavement filled her with confidence and reignited her righteous fury.

She had previously resigned herself to some sort of stakeout in which she would confront Robert as he exited the house, but the moment she saw the steamed up windows of the Saab, she realized the reality would be far more satisfying.

Sure enough, when she flung open the passenger-side door, a beast with two backs tumbled out with a high-pitched yelp and a gruff curse.

The girl was topless, a Convent of the Maiden uniform skirt pushed up around her waist. Robert had not even bothered to disrobe—his pants were around his knees, but his shirt remained on. As in life, he had managed to land on top, and was currently crushing the slut into the pavement. When he finally rolled off, his cock fully erect and dripping in her juices, the little hussy groaned.

Caught. In flagrante. Cersei had won. So why did she feel like smashing his stupid face repeatedly with her pointy heel?

“Oops,” Robert grinned, completely unrepentant.  “Care to finish me off?”

She cast a scornful look at the instrument in question. It was larger than average, which went some way toward explaining Robert’s unshakeable self-confidence. Men. They thought just because they were big, they were better. As if almost every mistake Robert had made in his moronically charmed life hadn’t been a result of the seven-ish inches in front of her.

“You broke the contract,” her voice snapped like a whip.

“Technically you broke it first,” Robert shrugged, laboriously pulling up his jeans.

“Excuse me?” She defaulted to frostily polite.

“Homecoming dance. I asked you to be my date. Three days in advance per the contract. You no-showed. I had to go home early.”

“My brother was in the hospital!” She hissed. “You know that! You were literally standing right there when those assholes broke his hand!”

“I don’t remember that being an exception in the contract,” Robert shrugged. 

“Hello?” The tramp had managed to get her shirt back on.

“Not now, M-marg—“ Robert tried to dismiss her and stumbled on her name.

“It’s Mhaegen,” Cersei spat acidly.  
“Mhaegen, we’ll talk later yeah? This isn’t a good time,” Robert patted her on the head. She huffed and stomped back toward her house. Robert didn’t even notice.

“It was his friggin’ hand, not a heart attack. You think my brothers haven’t been to the hospital? And did I spend all night at their bedside?” 

“You being a terrible brother doesn’t give you an excuse to cheat on me!” Cersei blurted angrily.

“Are we really calling it cheating, Princess?” Robert rolled his eyes. 

Cersei closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to look at his fat leering face anymore. She was embarrassed to realize when she opened them again that tear drops were clinging to the lashes.

“Our contract is done. Fuck you and your STD ridden prick. I can’t believe I ever thought this would work,” she snarled and turned in a smooth motion.

“Hey, are you crying?” Robert’s voice suddenly got more gentle. “Cersei, c’mon, this is silly.” He touched her elbow. At the touch, she flinched and her other hand connected with his face in a hard slap.

“Don’t you fucking pity me, and don’t you ever fucking touch me again!” She growled. Robert was holding his cheek, his eyes dark. She continued to walk away. This time he didn’t follow. Behind her, she heard the Saab start up and drive away.

Gods damn him. Who did he think he was?!

Cersei sniffed a little bit, and carefully wiped her eyes so as not to smudge her makeup. Keep it together girl. Ten more blocks to the car.

“Trouble in paradise?” The voice was light and just a touch oily. A skin of gasoline on a puddle, shining in shifting hues.

Euron Greyjoy peeled himself off of a wall where he had been leaning and stepped out of the darkness. He was wearing his black motorcycle jacket and his light brown hair ruffled in the wind. He looked relaxed and more than a little dangerous.

She felt the usual roil of disgust and unease that she had always felt around him. Something about his stare was too familiar.

“None of your business, Greyjoy,” she said brusquely.

She had hoped that would be enough to dismiss him, but instead he padded along at her side, gray eyes gleaming fever bright.

“It seems like its my business if our beloved lord paramount leaves a girl all by herself in a bad neighborhood,” Euron smirked. “Who knows what could happen?” He mused, leaning in to smell her hair.

She withdrew the mace from her handbag and gave it a shake or two to warm it up.

“Let me ruin the ending for you, Greyjoy. Nothing happens. Not to Tywin Lannister’s daughter,” she added, in case the mace wasn’t enough to deter him.

“I hear the mayor has Tywin Lannister on the run,” Euron shrugged, seemingly bothered by neither her threat nor her pepper spray. Five more blocks to the car.

“If you believed that, I doubt we’d still be talking,” Cersei lifted her chin. “Don’t you Greyjoys just jump girls you want?”  
“You have no idea what I want,” Euron licked his lips lewdly. Cersei wished that she had not driven Robert away quite so quickly. She was unaccustomed to feeling this destabilized.

“Well I want you to leave. This conversation bores me,” Cersei blatantly checked her watch.

“Are you accustomed to getting what you want?” Euron asked.

Cersei raised an eyebrow.

“Such a shame about our stag king then. And your father. And your brother. Seems like you’ve been losing a lot of leverage of late,” Euron shook his head in mock sympathy.

“Does this have a point?” Cersei ground out.

Euron suddenly slammed her against the wall, the hand that held the mace trapped in an iron grip above her head, the other biting into her shoulder. She tried to knee him in the groin, but he was out of reach and only laughed at her attempts, wedging one leg between her own.

“My point,” Euron whispered against her ear, his breath tickling along her neck. “Princess,” he crooned Robert’s nickname for her like it was a declaration of love, “is that I can show you how to take what you want.” He moved the leg between her feet so that it rubbed obscenely against her. 

Cersei gave him a flat glare. He was too smart to try anything except provocation. A sort of low cunning that let him dance just far enough over the line without being caught.

Perhaps sensing that was all the reaction he would get from her, Euron released her.

“Just a thought,” he tipped an imaginary hat to her and walked away, whistling jauntily to himself.


	57. Beric (A Winter's Tale 2 of 9)

Beric woke up the last day before winter vacation feeling chirpy. He stretched. One last day of school before two glorious weeks of New Year’s festivities, cuddling with his boyfriend and drinking hot toddies by the fire. Lazy mornings and late nights.

He showered quickly and got dressed in his usual khakis and button-down. Then he headed downstairs for breakfast. His mother made him breakfast every morning, a fact he had carefully kept from Thoros, whose home diet seemed to consist entirely of dried cereal and pilfered bar snacks, and who would no doubt subject him to relentless teasing. He sat down at the table, where his mother had made him his usual smiley face—two sunny-side up eggs with a bacon smile—and felt a surge of quiet satisfaction. Sometimes it was good to be an only child.

Today however, he was greeted by a pamphlet depicting ruddy teens grinning from the prow of a boat. Senior Year at Sea, the brochure read. Beric had a sinking feeling that had nothing to do with the eggs sliding down his gullet.

“Mom, what is this?” He frowned, jabbing at the leaflet with his fork.

“Oh?” Ceylena Dondarrion looked too innocent. “Just some reading material I thought you might find interesting. For next year, I mean.”

“I’m staying here. In King’s Landing,” Beric said stubbornly. “I hate boats. I’ll get seasick and drown.”

“Well it doesn’t have to be boats, dear,” his mother hurried over and whisked the offending pamphlet away. Only to replace it with two more. “Look—here’s one for an exchange program to Hardhome. You’ve always wanted to see the Northern Lights.”

“I’ll get eaten by a bear,” Beric scowled.

“What about disaster relief in the Summer Isles? They had that awful hurricane in the spring. You could do some good, get some volunteerism on your resume...”

“I’ll get hit on the head with a coconut and die,” Beric shook his head firmly.

“Beric,” Ceylena pursed her lips disapprovingly. “I must say I find these morbid jokes rather in poor taste.”

“What if they’re not jokes?” Beric muttered mutinously. His mother put her hands on her hips.

“Then I think you need to see a psychologist.”

There was a brief stand off.

“Fine, no more jokes,” Beric smiled weakly. “But I don’t want to go anywhere next year.”

Thoros was already uprooting his life to spend three of Beric’s four college years in some random city. The least Beric could do was stay put next year while he finished off his high school classes. Thoros could work full time at the bar, and they could pick where they were going together. Not trying to Ravyn from whatever remote location his mother wanted to send him.

“Darling,” Ceylena smoothed his hair affectionately. “I know having to spend next year finishing the classes you missed because of your accident is frustrating, but I don’t want you moping around the house all day.”

“I wouldn’t be moping!” Beric argued. Actually, he wasn’t even that frustrated, seeing as it let him spend another year right here with Thoros.

“And five years to graduate high school is already going to raise eyebrows on your transcript. I just think the Citadel might prefer you do something productive with that time. It’s not like you have a girlfriend tying you here,” his mother finished. Beric wolfed his bacon in an effort to escape this conversation. It was dry.

“I have friends,” he sputtered, washing everything down with orange juice.

“You can’t seriously be thinking of spending the entire year with your ragamuffin friends from High Hill,” she rolled her eyes.

Beric glared at her and stomped over to get his schoolbag.

“Oh sweetie, don’t be upset,” Ceylena Dondarrion back-peddled. “I only want what’s best for you.”

“What’s best for me is to stay. Right. Here.” Beric snapped.

“Maybe we can do something closer. Your father has connections at that architecture firm in Oldtown—you could work there for a year,” his mother pondered, already drifting out of the kitchen.

Beric sighed and trudged to the garage. This day had begun so well.

How was he supposed to break the news to Thoros that their one year apart was actually going to be two?

The boy in question was waiting for him by his locker.

“Last day of fall semester!” Thoros grinned. “Grades come out today. Are you worried?”

“I wasn’t,” Beric retorted, opening his locker with just a little more force than was necessary.

“You seem tense,” Thoros tilted his head. “Everything okay?”

Beric felt a surge of affection for the older boy, who was so calm and unruffled.

“Just my mother,” Beric sighed and leaned against Thoros. It was about as much affection as they could get away with in a school hallway.

“Sounds like you need to relax,” Thoros grinned. “I can help with that.”

Thoros was so perfectly perfect. He shouldn’t have to worry this. Didn’t need to know that Beric’s parents didn’t want him hanging out with ragamuffins from High Hill. Especially not after he’d freaked out about not fitting in with Beric’s friends at Homecoming. Beric could handle it.

So instead he gave him a beaming smile and squelched down the worries.

“Pick you up after work then?”

“What—no ride there?” Thoros jokingly whined.

“Spread the good word to the common folk on the bus,” Beric stuck his tongue out. “I have to hit the library.”

“It’s the last day of class! Grades are already out,” Thoros groaned.

“And I’m expecting to see yours by the way,” Beric change the topic. “Otherwise how will I know if all my ghost writing paid off?”

He didn’t go to the library. Instead he drove to Convent of the Maiden, where school was just letting out. He had called ahead of time, and sure enough she was waiting by the flag pole. Allyria Dayne. 

She was a junior with the same silky black hair and violet eyes as her much more well-known cousin. They had been partners at debate camp together for all of middle school. He had dropped debate for football in high school, but they had stayed in touch and he considered her to be if not quite a friend, then someone he implicitly trusted.

“Hey,” she smiled at him and gave him a gentle hug. She hadn’t seen him since the accident, but there was no dismay on her face. Only a sincere happiness to see him. “It’s been way too long, Beric. Where have you been?”

“Hospital and rehab, then just dealing with senior fall,” he shrugged.

“So I’m intrigued by your text. What’s this super important matter you want to discuss?” She nudged him playfully.

“Er not here. Can I get you a coffee?” He asked sheepishly.

“You do know how to treat a girl,” Allyria laughed. “How about the Peach?”

Beric waited until they were comfortably situated in a quiet corner of the Peach, steaming cappuccinos in hand, before taking a deep breath.

“I’m gay,” he said. No beating about the bush. Firm and to the point.

“Er yeah. I know,” Allyria gave him a confused look. Beric felt a little crestfallen.

“How did you know?” He blurted.

“I don’t know, we’ve known each other for ages. You’ve never shown any interest in girls. You’re always really well dressed. I saw you kissing Jon Connington behind the counselors’ cabin.”

“You could have led with that,” Beric blushed.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Allyria winked. “So was that what all this was about? The call out of the blue and the free drink? You wanted to come out to me?”

“Not exactly,” Beric mumbled. 

“So spill the beans,” Allyria crossed her arms.

“Well I have a boyfriend that my parents don’t know about. And my mom wants to send me away next year, but if she thought I were in a relationship with someone she approved of, she would feel differently,” Beric explained.

“You want me to be your fake girlfriend?” Allyria raised her eyebrows.

“Just for my parents!” Beric interjected. “All you have to do is come around my house this afternoon and let me do the talking. It’s like a two hour gig max.”

“Won’t they wonder where I am for the next year and a half?”

“I mean maybe an odd appearance here and there. But as soon as classes start next fall I can just tell them we broke up. Then it’ll be too late to enroll me anywhere else,” Beric was aware he was babbling. Honestly he hadn’t even thought this plan out that far ahead. Just a temporary fix to get his mother to drop the grand travel plans.

Allyria was still looking at him, large violet eyes appraising. Beric gulped.

“Well?”

“Well, what do I get out of it?”

“The satisfaction of helping someone in need?” Beric suggested hopefully.

Allyria sipped her coffee.

“What do you want to get out of it?” Beric sighed.

“A favor. A ginormous favor of my choosing that can be exercised either now or fifty years from now. And you have to say yes.”

Allyria has always been much better at debate than him.

“Of course.” Beric’s shoulders drooped.

She finished her coffee.

“Well what are you waiting for? Let’s go tell your mom the good news snookums,” Allyria smirked.

“Let me do the talking,” Beric reminded her.

They found his mother arguing with a gardener who was preparing the flower beds for spring.

“Oh there you are darling—I don’t suppose you know Tyroshi Valyrian for snow? IT’S GOING TO SNOW!” Ceylena waved her arms and pantomimed snowflakes. The gardener shook his head and ambled off, probably to refrain from strangling her.

“Mom, I want you to meet Allyria,” Beric said carefully. His mom straightened up and gave her a quick once-over in the guise of a cheery smile and handshake.

“I’ve been in a relationship for about two months now, and Allyria is a year behind me in school,” Beric continued. Both independently true but not connected. His mother looked delighted.

“Beric! I had no idea! Let’s go inside, you’re going to have to tell me all about yourself, my dear,” she corralled Allyria towards the house. Allyria shot him a petrified look.

“You remember her, she was my partner at debate camp. And she goes to Convent of the Maiden. We can’t really stay for long. But you see, I’m happy in my relationship and I don’t want to leave just because. College is coming soon enough,” he explained, disentangling his mother’s arm from Allyria’s shoulder.

“I just wanted you to meet her,” he said. “Allyria, will you start the car for us?” She nodded, grateful for the escape from an awkward situation, and hurried off.

“Really Beric, you didn’t have to shoo her away like that—it was Allyria Dayne wasn’t it? Good family the Daynes. That side anyway,” Ceylena craned her head to catch one last glimpse. “Nothing like that dreadful Ashara.”

“But here’s the thing. Nobody knows we’re dating,” Beric said. Because they weren’t. “So you can’t tell anyone. Not her parents, not your friends, and definitely not my friends.” He stared at her to make sure the last part had sunk in.

“Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic?” Ceylena waved him off.

“I do not,” Beric answered coldly. “Promise me you won’t tell anybody.”

His mother fidgeted uncomfortably but really had no choice.

“Of course not, pumpkin,” she kissed him on the forehead. And that was part one of the plan.

Part two of the plan came later when he picked Thoros up from the bar, and let his hand rest on his boyfriend’s thigh after he kissed him. When he kissed him again before they got out of the car, deeply and greedily, feeling Thoros’ fingers holding on to his hair for dear life. When he pulled on Thoros’ own hair to get at his neck and teasingly trailed his kisses downwards until Thoros was a squirming mess beneath him.

And then much later, wrapped around him, when they were spent and sleepy and Beric could see the lazy contentment in his blue eyes.

“What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?” Beric asked, as if he hadn’t been planning on asking this very question for hours. Thoros didn’t respond, just buried his face against Beric’s chest. With a sigh, Beric tugged at the red strands of hair on the pillow until he got a response.

“What was the question?” Thoros yawned.

“What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?” Beric repeated patiently. “You said your parents weren’t going to make it home this year.” He skimmed lightly over that fact in case it was painful, but Thoros had always seemed unbothered by his parents’ disinterest.

“Yeah, service in the morning I guess, but no big plans for the night before,” Thoros yawned. “Finding someone to kiss at midnight,” he continued with a slyer tone.

“Hey!” Beric said in faux outrage. 

“What are you doing for New Year’s Eve?”

“Do you want to come have dinner with my family?” Beric asked, holding his breath. Part two of the plan was fixing his parents’ impression of Thoros. He wasn’t exactly clear what had happened at the hospital, but his mother had intimated that while they all owed his High Hill friend a huge debt, he wasn’t exactly the sort of person who would be a good influence on Beric. But if they just spent more time with him... Beric was sure they would see how kind he was, and how funny and smart and loyal and—

“Is Melisandre invited?” Thoros interrupted Beric’s mental spiral of adoration.

“Uh she can be. Let me just confirm,” Beric said a little surprised.

“Just there’s nobody home right? I don’t want to leave her in an empty apartment for the night. Maybe she has other plans, but this way she can decide for herself.” 

He was so thoughtful and such a good brother too.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Beric said blithely. Considering he hadn’t technically asked about Thoros either, throwing Melisandre in would hardly be an ordeal. The funny thing was, as long as he presented it as a chance for his mother to get to know these people he always talked about (thereby gaining valuable insight into his life and his reintegration into society post-accident), his mother would be downright delighted to have them.

“I’m um... a little surprised your parents are cool with me,” Thoros admitted, his thoughts apparently running along a similar track.

“They were just so impressed by your A in calculus,” Beric teased.

“It was an A minus. And it was your A minus,” Thoros rolled his eyes, but Beric could detect traces of a smile.

“I wasn’t taking those tests for you,” Beric disagreed. “I’m sure Barristan Selmy was pleased.”

“More like shocked. I think I saw him clutch his chest when he tallied up my scores,” Thoros scoffed.

“And what about chemistry? That was an A plus and I didn’t help you at all!” Beric wrapped his arms around him.

“I don’t need help setting stuff on fire. Or making it explode. Or dissolving it in acid,” Thoros said drily. “At least it offsets my C in literature and my C minus in history.”

“I can’t believe Pycelle gave me a B on that paper on Old Ghis,” Beric huffed. “You should just move to AP World History with me. At least Ravin knows what he’s talking about.”

“Alright Mr. Straight As, let’s not get carried away,” Thoros snorted. “I’m very happy in my middling student track.” 

“You haven’t answered the question,” Beric jumped back to the original topic. Thoros rolled them over so he was on top and grinned smugly down at Beric.

“Why yes my lord, I will go to the ball with you!”


	58. Jaime (A Winter's Tale 3 of 9)

Jaime threw another basketball at the small hoop, groaning as it spun wildly off his left hand and came nowhere close. He grabbed for another of the basketballs in the net below him just as the buzzer sounded. 

32-8, the scoreboard read. 

“It was closer than it looked,” Brienne offered, hiding her smile. 

“Spare me your platitudes wench,” Jaime rolled his eyes. “You’re just lucky I don’t have my right hand. But there must be something else in this arcade that I can do as well with my left... what else have you beat me in?” 

“Target shooting, air hockey, and whack-a-mole,” Brienne responded promptly. 

Jaime shook his head. 

“I didn’t want to have to do this,” he began dramatically. “But I’m afraid you’ve left me no choice.” 

Brienne raised an eyebrow. 

“LASER TAG!” Jaime whooped, and dragged her toward the arena where a game was just beginning. 

Really it didn’t matter that he was surprisingly useless with one hand. Having Brienne around had a way of smoothing over the gaping holes in his schedule where jujitsu and football used to be. Sure it stung that the football team had won their second division championship in a row, apparently not even missing their starting running back. But he had taken Brienne to an Italian restaurant and forced her to reenact the Lady and the Tramp spaghetti scene until she was beet red. And yeah, every time he saw Euron Greyjoy’s stupid face, or Meryn Trant or Boris Blount or Ilyn Payne or... by the Warrior, he had a surprising number of enemies. Well the point was, not being able to get into fights sucked too, but it was hard to worry about that when he was taking Brienne to the symphony in his family’s corporate box, or amusing himself in the library by counting her freckles while she studied. 

The arcade had been an inspired suggestion, even if his hand made him the world’s easiest competition. He loved how Brienne looked when she was concentrating on a game, how her eyes flashed with determination, how she bloomed with confidence. 

Some day, she would have that kind of confidence everywhere she went. He would undo a lifetime of sneers and slights, and didn’t mind drawing on some of the Lannister influence if it meant seeing her light up. 

He sprinted through an obstacle course of tires, plywood and neon lighting, eyes fixed on a familiar tuft of blond hair poking out behind a watch tower. 

Just as she was about to dart to the next protected location, he dove in front of her, shooting wildly with left hand at the target on her chest. 

“We’re on the same team,” she sighed in exaggerated exasperation. 

A small child, seizing upon her distraction, ran by and took a pot shot. Immediately the target on her chest blinked from green to red. 

“Brienne!” Jaime fell to his knees. “Say this isn’t the end!” 

“I’m afraid so,” Brienne looked down at her red chest plate. “I’ll meet you by the snacks?” 

“Fear not fair maiden, I will avenge your honor!” Jaime struck a pose. 

Some five minutes later, a security guard was glaring at them as Brienne dragged him away from the laser tag, a slurpee in her other hand. 

“I can’t believe you tackled a child!” She scolded. 

“It was the little brat who tagged you! Worse she got me too! Kid was a fucking sniper,” Jaime pouted. 

“You got kicked out of laser tag,” Brienne rolled her eyes. “I didn’t even know that was possible.” 

“Maybe I just didn’t want to leave you by yourself at the snack bar,” Jaime winked. “There are a lot of dangerous characters about.” 

“And I’m about five times taller than all of them,” Brienne snarked. 

“What about me,” Jaime slowed her walk, pulling her to face him. “Aren’t I a dangerous character?” 

Brienne blushed and looked around. Satisfied that nobody was staring, she leaned forward and lightly pecked him on the lips. 

“The most dangerous,” she said with a small smile. 

Endorphins exploded in his brain like fireworks at the bashful little kiss. Because it wasn’t just the kiss. It was the idea that she was finally comfortable kissing him instead of the other way around. And in public! 

“Jaime,” Brienne began shyly. “Do you want to maybe spend New Year’s Eve with my father and I?” 

And now she was asking him on dates! He knew the arcade had been a good idea. All the competitive juices had turned her into a stronger and more assertive wench. 

“I will absolutely spend New Year’s with you,” he beamed, intertwining their hands until he couldn’t tell where Brienne’s fingers began and his ended. 

“You absolutely cannot spend New Year’s with her,” Cersei called from the bathroom, shouting to be heard over the faucet. Jaime was leaning with his back against the wall outside. He was a little concerned about her, she had been moping in her room all day and it was the first day of vacation. Plus she kept darting to the bathroom. 

“Why not?!” Jaime snapped. “I don’t care what overly complicated scheme you have that requires my assistance, but I want to kiss my GIRLFRIEND on New Year’s Eve and there’s nothing that will stop me.” 

The door opened. Jaime abruptly shut his mouth because it was quite clear that she had been crying. Her face did not look puffy, probably because she’d been making frequent trips to the bathroom to apply cold compresses, but there was no mistaking the red rimmed eyes. 

“New Year’s Eve falls on the last Saturday of the year,” Cersei said tiredly. “It’s the night of the Lannister holiday party, you silly ass.” 

Oh. Shit. His mother had started the tradition long ago, when she and his father were newlyweds. He had been six when his mother died, and his memories of her grew foggier with each passing day. But from what he could recall, she had been a saint. A radiant presence of warmth and kindness, and not a man or woman who met her could help but love her. Even his father, a man who could only love what he could possess, had loved her. 

They’d been near broke then, the Lannister family fortune squandered by his grandfather’s bad investments. He had heard Oberyn and Elia’s mother laughingly reminisce about how those first few parties were held in squalid apartments, how the oven had broken once, and the first guests had been greeted by the sight of Joanna Lannister trying to cook steaks on a hot plate before Tywin had come running in, his arms full of boxes of Yi Ti takeout. 

But every year the parties grew larger and more lavish, driven by his mother’s capacity to make friends and his father’s capacity to make money. 

Until the cancer diagnosis. Joanna Lannister had been pregnant at the time, refused to start treatments until she had Tyrion, so scared was she of hurting the baby. And then the cancer had spread and it had been barely another year before she was gone. 

In the vague glow of his childhood memories of his mother, he could sometimes see his father. And in those memories he smiled sometimes or laughed, but that couldn’t be right because his father never did those things. But all the same, he had loved her. Everybody agreed and Jaime remembered enough to remember that. And when she died, the best of Tywin Lannister died too. 

People didn’t expect him to continue the tradition of the holiday party. Everybody knew that it had been mostly Joanna’s friends who were invited, that Tywin regarded the parties as more of an ordeal than entertainment. But the invitations had gone out as usual, as they would every year thereafter. Jaime had heard Steffon and Cassana Baratheon speculate that it was a way to keep Joanna’s memories alive, that in some way it pleased Tywin to bring her friends together to be merry because it was what she would have wanted. What pleased his father beyond stock returns, Jaime couldn’t really say, but he knew it pleased Joanna Lannister’s friends to celebrate her this way, and nobody who received the invitation ever turned it down. 

He arrived at the inescapable conclusion that Cersei was right. He simply had to go to the party. But if he couldn’t go to Brienne... 

“I’ll invite Brienne to the party,” Jaime announced. “Why shouldn’t I? Your boyfriend is coming.” 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Cersei said stiffly. “And the Baratheons have always come to the party.” 

Jaime raised his eyebrow. Cersei would never admit to a play that she was currently running. Which meant something had ended. Permanently. And she had been crying, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

“Do you... want to talk about it?” He asked cautiously. “Did he cheat on you? Do you need me to beat him up?” He added the last one in an attempt to get Cersei to smile. Maybe with two hands that would have been a fight worth watching. With one hand, he’d be lucky to get through one of Robert’s berserker rages alive. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Cersei scoffed. “It’s not like we were ever really dating in the first place.” 

Jaime wondered why he suddenly didn’t believe her. Literally for the last two and a half months he had been crying sham, but the moment she said it out loud, it rang false. 

“You’re much, much too good for him,” he said firmly. She raised an eyebrow. “Well, maybe not good. Much too smart for him,” Jaime amended. 

“You know if people would just let me run their lives for them, this world would work much better,” Cersei snipped, a flare of her old haughtiness igniting her green eyes. 

“Why don’t you leave running people’s lives to father,” Jaime hugged her. She didn’t hug him back, but she rested her head on his shoulder briefly. 

“You’ll always have me,” he said. 

“But I don’t,” she pointed out a little tartly. There was an uncomfortable pause. 

“If you’re going to invite Brienne Tarth, which I strongly advise against, you better tell father now,” Cersei instructed. 

Jaime swallowed the lump in his throat. In that moment, his sister had seemed terribly alone. Some part of him yearned to say that wasn’t true, that they had come into this world together and he would never leave her. But he was done with the mindless loyalty, the one hundred percent them against the world, and Cersei had never been good about accepting anything less.

“I’ll tell father,” he promised, and that was that. 

“Brienne Tarth is Selwyn Tarth’s daughter, yes?” Tywin Lannister peered at Jaime over the computer monitor in his study. 

“Yes?” Jaime stumbled a bit. It wasn’t like she referred to her father as Selwyn, but there was only one Tarth family that he knew of. 

“I believe I saw her at the hospital. What is the nature of your acquaintance with Miss Tarth?” His father’s thin lips were pressed together. 

“She is my girlfriend,” Jaime said firmly. 

“I see,” Tywin replied, sounding very much as if he did not. “Do you really think it’s a wise idea to be spending your junior year, a year that is completely critical from an academic perspective, embarking on a relationship?” 

“You saw my grades,” Jaime huffed. “They’re better than average.” Mostly thanks to Cersei.

“If all you aspire to is better than average, you disappoint me,” his father answered coldly. 

“When have I not,” Jaime muttered under his breath.

“Jaime, if you have something to say to me, I expect you to articulate that thought in a volume audible to the human ear. Unless you have anything further, I will consider this conversation at an end. The Tarths can expect an invitation in two to three business days.”

“Wait, really? You’re okay with this?” Jaime blurted. Tywin, who had returned his gaze to the computer screen, once more let it drift back to his son’s face.

“If you are asking whether I mind inviting the Tarths, there are over two hundred business associates and social acquaintances attending this party. Two more people is inconsequential,” Tywin Lannister said flatly. “If you are asking if I approve of your relationship, I frankly have insufficient information to venture an opinion. All the more reason to invite them. I look forward to making this young lady’s acquaintance.”

Jaime gulped. 


	59. Mel/Lya (A Winter's Tale 4 of 9)

Melisandre looked out the window, to where the first fat flakes were lazily drifting to the ground. With a small smile of pure excitement, she clambered out onto the fire escape and from there lifted herself on to the roof.

“It’s snowing!” She announced happily to her brother, who was also staring up at the sky with a rather more bleak expression.

He stuck his tongue out at her but withdrew it quickly when a snowflake promptly landed on it.

“Oh come on,” Melisandre rolled her eyes. “You’re such a Grinch. You liked Ibben remember? And there was snow there all year round.”

“There was also fermented goat’s milk all year round,” Thoros scowled. “I spent that entire year drunk off my ass and cannot be held responsible for any opinions expressed under the influence of that witch’s brew.”

Melisandre ignored him, the only appropriate response to him when he was being ridiculous. She tipped her face up and watched as a perfect little crystal landed on her nose.

Thoros huddled deeper into a corner, taking a swig from his flask and blowing on his hands.

“It’s not even that cold,” Melisandre informed him matter-of-factly. “Stop acting like you’re going to freeze to death.”

“You’ll be sorry when I do,” Thoros muttered sulkily.

“Fine, freeze to death to spite me. What do you want for dinner?”

“A favor?” Thoros asked hopefully.

“Not on the menu. We haven’t ordered Mereenese in a while?”

“Don’t you want to know what the favor is?”

“It’s to come with you tomorrow to Beric’s family dinner with his awful WASP-y parents. Hard pass.”

“Nope,” Thoros stretched and got to his feet. “You are coming with me to Beric’s family dinner, unless you can produce evidence of alternative plans. I’m not leaving you home alone on New Year’s Eve.”

“I told you, Stannis has that stupid family party at the Lannisters’,” Melisandre crossed her arms. “And Davos’ parents took him to Naath for winter holiday.”

“So I guess you’re coming with me,” Thoros began to lower himself down the fire escape.

“I’ll stay here and read a book, thank you,” Melisandre hurried after him.

“There’s nothing to eat and all the restaurants will be closed. Besides, if you come with me to dinner, you’ll already be near the Baratheons’ place for the after party.” 

“There’s an after party?” Melisandre felt her resolve wavering. Thoros gave her a look.

“It’s Robert. Of course there’s an after party.”

“Fine, I’ll come,” Melisandre grumbled. “But if the Dondarrions even so much as mention burning babies...”

“You’ll summon a shadow demon to murder them,” Thoros rolled his eyes. “Okay, back to my favor.”

“That was your favor.”

“See doing a thing that benefits you isn’t a favor. It’s more like self-interest.”

“Do you want curry? I was thinking curry.”

“But driving an hour out of the way to pick up someone who’s car died? That’s a favor.”

“Let’s do two orders of spicy chicken curry and something green.”

“Helping you burn down your ex’s greenhouse? That’s a favor.”

“Broccoli with that good peanut sauce I think.”

“Not telling your boyfriend that you told me he was a virgin? That’s a favor.”

Melisandre’s head shot up from the take out menu she had been perusing.

“That’s blackmail,” she frowned. Thoros smiled.

“What’s your favor?” She sighed.

“I don’t like it,” Melisandre said moodily as she stabbed a piece of chicken with her fork.

“The curry? You ordered it. I agree that it’s rather bland,” Thoros was deliberately misunderstanding her. Although the curry was bland. That was King’s Landing for you. Food from all over the world and yet they managed to reduce everything to the same tepid flavors.

“Not the curry,” Melisandre growled. “Your favor.”

“You’ve wanted me to cut my hair since we left Myr,” Thoros wheedled.

“Because it looks stupid. That’s not why you want to cut it.”

“Why does it matter why I want to cut it, so long as you achieve the desired result?” Thoros washed the curry down with a gulp of beer.

“Because you’re not cutting it because you want to cut it. You’re cutting it because you think it’ll make a better impression on Beric’s parents,” Melisandre glared. 

Inside, she was trying to quell a bubble of alarm. She loved her lazy, disreputable, often drunk brother, but she did not necessarily respect him. One of the few attributes she admired, however, was that he genuinely did not give a fuck what people thought about him. It was the first lesson he had ever taught her, when she had come home from school sobbing as a child because people made fun of her clothes. Those people didn’t matter. You didn’t act differently for them, you didn’t dress differently for them, and you sure didn’t cut your hair differently for them.

“I’m not really seeing a problem with this,” Thoros said impatiently.

“I saw your grades,” Melisandre blurted. She realized that meant admitting she went through his stuff, but he had to realize that she did that already. 

“Yeah, okay? They were good. Great by my standards.”

“Right. You don’t care about grades,” Melisandre gritted her teeth. “Beric cares about grades. And you’ve been cutting class less and smoking with Anguy less and now you’re cutting your hair. You don’t have to change who you are for Beric.”

“Most people would call those improvements rather than sacrifices,” Thoros had gone very still, and Melisandre knew that meant he was getting angry. Well what if he was. She was angry too. 

“And when did you care about most people? Look, cut your hair if you want to. Leave the temple, follow him across the country. Do whatever you want to, but maybe you should be asking what exactly he’s sacrificing for you. Because from where I sit, this is looking like a one way street.”

“Fuck you,” Thoros said. His voice was calm but the sentiment crackled with venom. “I’ll cut my hair myself.”

Melisandre went to service that night at their temple alone. As the priests lit the nightfires, and High Priest Benerro led them all through worship, Melisandre prayed for patience. The patience to deal with stubborn assholes who were too pigheaded to see when she was trying to help them.

When she got home, the door to his room was firmly shut. She called Stannis, and listened to him recite his litany of complaints about the weather (look at that, he had something in common with Thoros after all), the cold, Robert being in an unaccountably bad mood, the Lannister holiday party, Davos abandoning them for Naath, and that his parents had once again ignored his perfect grades to coo over Robert’s single A.

“I wish you were coming to the Lannister holiday party,” Stannis said glumly. “Or that I wasn’t.”

“Me too,” Melisandre admitted, equally glumly. She wished she could tell him about her fight with Thoros, but oh yeah, she couldn’t because Beric didn’t want anybody to know he was gay. Because god forbid he not be able to have his cake and eat it too. The old Thoros would have found that at least a little bit insulting. But no, instead she had to go to the Dondarrions’ stupid fancy house and watch their picture perfect family eat dinner and field questions on whether or not she always wore red.

When she had at last hung up, she realized that Thoros was still in his room. Not a good sign. She knocked on the door. 

“Come in,” Thoros said sullenly.

She walked in. He had his hood up over his head. Really not a good sign.

“Let’s see the damage,” Melisandre sighed and Thoros grimaced and took the hood off. Melisandre did not believe in divine retribution, at least not for anything quite this petty, but it was hard not to keep the flicker of a smile off her face. He looked like he’d dove head first into a lawn mower.

“Shut up,” Thoros grumbled. 

“I didn’t say anything,” Melisandre rolled her eyes.

“You’re thinking loudly.”

“Get your hair wet and sit at the kitchen table. I’ll see what I can do,” Melisandre said, already turning to see what he’d done with the scissors.

“He didn’t ask me to do it, okay?” Thoros said abruptly as Melisandre tried to even out the mess. “And he’s just trying to be helpful with the school stuff. And I don’t care what people think, but Beric does a little bit and I want to make him happy. I love him. Making him happy makes me happy. See? No favors, pure self-interest.”

Melisandre was still stuck on the part where he’d said he loved Beric Dondarrion with the sort of casualness with which he might say that he wanted another beer. Really? Beric? The senior was like… oatmeal. Sort of pleasant and wholesome and very very bland. If Thoros had ended up with anybody (an outcome which she by no means considered a foregone conclusion), she had always assumed it would be some kind of biker chick.

“You stopped cutting,” Thoros said a little nervously. “Are you finished? Does it look okay?”

“I’m not finished,” Melisandre came back to earth. “And before you get excited, the goal is not for it to look okay. The goal is damage control.”

“Right. Um, thanks,” Thoros tacked on awkwardly.

“Don’t mention it,” Melisandre muttered, resuming her snipping. Thoros was rubbish at emotional stuff, that was all there was to it. Eighteen years old and as far she knew he’d never had anything more than passing boners for anyone except Beric. Which was sweet when you thought about it. That was what people didn’t understand about him. Deep down he was very sweet and he had to be protected from skinny suck ups like Beric who would only break his heart the moment dating him became inconvenient. Just like that no good two-faced cunt Kinvara. Melisandre had been biding her time on that one until Kinvara let her guard down, but she would rue the day she had toyed with Melisandre’s heart.

Beric wouldn’t be nearly as challenging. She thought they really just needed a good sit down. Clearly it should have happened a long time ago, but somehow he had fooled her with his whole Boy Scout schtick and the way he looked at Thoros like he walked on water. Well. No longer. Actually, she was rather looking forward to dinner tomorrow.

“There,” Melisandre said brightly. “All done!”

Thoros looked up hopefully. It was quite short, Melisandre was prepared to admit that. But he hadn’t left her with much to work with. And it wasn’t her fault that he had such a bumpy skull. Maybe he did look better with long hair.

\----

Lyanna got the voicemail as the sun was setting on the last day of the year.

Her stomach flipped uneasily when she saw it, and she wondered whether you were supposed to have that reaction to voicemails from your boyfriend.

But Rhaegar had been erratic of late, under enormous stress from his family. He had a baby sister, born Homecoming weekend, and she cried incessantly, her thin wail echoing through the halls of the mayor’s mansion when Lyanna had gone to visit.

Rhaella had seemed unwell, Viserys sullen. Only Rhaegar’s father had seemed in high spirits, and that had been the most disturbing of all. Rhaegar said he had some new secret project that he’d been working on night and day, what he was calling a monument to his career.

Rhaegar had spat that last part, and Lyanna knew that he blamed the mayoralty for Aerys’ illness, his refusal to get help, the stress-lines that fractured through his family like a cobweb of glass. Lyanna, who had never known anything but endless love and support from her family, wondered how he could stand to breath in such poison. Wondered if maybe growing up in all of that wouldn’t turn you a little poisonous yourself.

It had been different last year, when it had just been them against the world. Then they had spoken about breaking free, escaping King’s Landing, going backpacking around the world and never looking back. Rhaegar had seemed like a different person then, confident and kind and endlessly in love with her.

Lyanna glanced again at the phone, wondering why she was delaying listening to the message. He still loved her. There were weekends in Sunspear far from his family’s shadow when everything felt just as it was and everything felt perfect. It would be that way again once she was in college with him.

Only he had gotten so moody and somber lately, so fixated on his father’s vision for King’s Landing. And Lyanna was feeling... restless. She had been trying to push that thought to the back of her mind, trying to squelch it down with everything she had. Because it reminded her of the bad days, the end of her and Robert, where everywhere they went his arm was around her like a shackle and everybody said how happy they were and Lyanna wanted to scream. She had known the world had more happiness to offer than could be found in Robert Baratheon.

In the beginning there had been happiness. When they had been freshmen, sneaking kisses in the Starks’ treehouse, right above her brothers’ heads. Then it had been secret and wild and exciting and Lyanna had thought she had loved him. Only to watch as what they had congealed into something possessive and ugly and terribly terribly dull.

Rhaegar had rescued her. He had given her the confidence she needed to simply shrug, give up and walk away. Some things weren’t worth fixing. So you just shattered them instead.

She and Rhaegar had shattered their worlds together, danced as the broken pieces crunched underfoot. She had been so certain then that she had gotten it right this time.

Lyanna touched the screen of her phone, called up the description of the message. Under a minute.

What if she hadn’t? What if she had needed somebody to pry her loose of the easy monotony of her old world, and Rhaegar had happened to be passing at the right time. And now she was left looking at a boy who would rather read then go clubbing, who was artistic and sensitive and liked things to be abstract and beautiful. Lyanna liked a mess.

And that wasn’t even the worst case scenario. The one where it wasn’t Rhaegar, it wasn’t Robert, it wasn’t anybody. That this weird discontent that had settled over her life followed in her footsteps like a shadow, that it would inevitably seep into and destroy anything she touched.

“Hey Ly,” her brother poked his head out from the kitchen. “A watched phone never rings.”

“Too late for that,” Lyanna mumbled, but shot a smile at Ned. On seeing her dark expression lift, her twin’s own features brightened. Dependable, honorable, effortlessly good Neddy. He always did the right thing. If the winds of malaise ever nipped at his heels, he never spoke of it. When she tried to describe the sensation, he would only laugh and say that she was wild. His wild wolf. What would he say if she told him she was thinking about not going to college just yet? Not Sunspear, not anywhere, just taking that grand tour she and Rhaegar had talked of once.

Finally she flipped the phone up and listened. Immediately she knew something was wrong. Not wrong in the vague off-kilter way she’d just been fretting over, but in the immediate and direct sense. He was waiting for her at the end of the road, nobody could see him, but he had finally figured it out. And he had to tell her—his voice sounded scratchy and desperate on the recording—had to tell her before he told everyone and the shit hit the fan.

She grabbed a parka and left without saying anything. Brandon was home from Winterfell, so naturally their entire house was chaos. He was yelling at Benjen for going through his stuff, and Ned was trying to defend his brother, and their father was asking them all to please be quiet, he was trying to watch the news. Lyanna slipped out unnoticed.

Rhaegar shot out of the car as soon as he saw her, swept her into his arms and kissed her. For a second, all of the shadows flickering at the edge of her mind were banished. When he held her in his arms, they fit together. He was the candle to her flame, tethering her and keeping her sane. The eye of her hurricane. There was nothing they couldn’t face together.

“Were you followed?” He asked, his face drawn, his beautiful lilac eyes searching.

“What?” Lyanna gave an uneasy laugh as they drove away. She wished he hadn’t said anything at all. What kind of question was that? They were driving too fast, and it was bringing back bad memories. Memories of screaming at Robert as he screamed at her, not looking at the road as they bounced off the center divider and spun crazily back across the highway until they hit a tree trunk in an awful crunch of metal and glass.

But then Rhaegar started to talk. And Lyanna listened. And memories gave way to fears for the future, for what Rhaegar’s predictions might mean for him, for her, for them. She was holding his hand, there was no screaming at all. Just a tense anxious silence, punctuated by questions. 

The sun had set on the last day of the year when they heard the click, a terrible mechanical sound devoid of sympathy or regret. There was no humanity in that click, and their eyes only had time to meet each other’s for an instant—gray met purple and she knew, yes she knew, and gods she was so scared but at least she had him at least they were together at least—her world exploded into fire and blood.


	60. Robert (A Winter's Tale 5 of 9)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise chapter! SOMEONE suggested that it was rude to have a crazy development like character death without warning! And like Beric, I hate to be rude. Hopefully this chapter makes up for it :)

It was perhaps a testament to Robert’s general unease that he was the only one of his siblings to be ready on time. Unlike Stannis, he did not consider punctuality a grand virtue. After all, people usually waited for him. But no, here he was, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, while his parents yelled at Renly to get off his computer and at Stannis to just put on some damn socks, whatever that meant.

This wasn’t his fault, Robert thought sulkily, as he slid into the backseat of his father’s car and locked it, forcing Renly to go around. Stannis was hanging back, which forced Renly to slide into the dreaded middle seat. Stannis then promptly got in, feigning ignorance when Renly accused them both of hogging the windows.

Trapping Renly in the middle was a dance they could do in their sleep, and gave Robert ample time to brood.

They weren’t actually dating. You couldn’t cheat on someone if you weren’t actually dating. And furthermore, if you liked someone who you weren’t actually dating, maybe you should do more than occasionally taunt them with your unavailability. She didn’t have any right to be upset. That she was upset, and that that in turn upset him... well, it was all very upsetting. 

She hadn’t picked up any of his calls, and since they were on break, it wasn’t like he could just corner her in a hallway.

He had gotten his early decision admission from the Aerie, and he hadn’t told anyone, not even his parents. He’d wanted to tell her first, because he knew that she’d been wanting to do an unofficial visit and he’d thought they could coordinate schedules so she could crash wherever the university put him up on his second look. It was a logistical curtesy that’s all. He didn’t need to share his admission decision with anybody.

He had the fat envelope folded up under the back of his sports coat, stuffed half into his pants, so he could bring it tonight to show her and nobody would see it. Assuming that she was still talking to him. Or that they were even still fake dating. She had said they were over, but in his experience women usually said that several times before they meant it.

His parents were talking to each other and ignoring them, which was pretty much par for the course. Actually, par for the course would be their parents off traveling in some distant country. Now, trying to pretend like they were these people’s children and not three fairly self-sufficient roommates was weird. He couldn’t articulate it better than that. He wasn’t good at articulating things. She was.

They got to the Lannister mansion, and his father made the usual jokes about Tywin’s lawn being fertilized by his golden shits. His parents didn’t know about her. Neither he nor apparently his brothers had thought it worth mentioning. 

The party was even worse than usual. Oberyn and Elia had somehow gotten out of it by visiting their cousins in Dorne. Renly vanished almost immediately in search of Tyrion. Stannis wandered over to talk to Sandor Clegane, who appeared to be guarding the canapés with a hostile possessiveness. 

Cersei was across the room, talking to her uncle. She was wearing a demure forest green dress of crushed velvet, and she had an actual silver tiara in her hair. Well they say you should dress for the job you want, and Robert supposed that Cersei had been training as an ice princess her entire life.

He tried to catch her eye, but her hard green gaze was uncharacteristically elusive. Seven hells, he couldn’t so much as take a swig of whiskey or scratch his balls in public without seeing her glaring at him, but the moment he actually wanted her attention?

She couldn’t talk to Kevan Lannister forever. He wrangled a glass of red wine from a passing waitress (solid rack beneath her uniform he would guess), and sipped it, staring determinedly at her.

There was his opportunity. Kevan was smiling and gesturing to someone, clearly about to leave. Robert finished his wine, set the glass down, and turned to catch her when—

“Oof,” he nearly knocked down Jaime Lannister.

“Have you seen Brienne?” Jaime blurted, looking anxious. “We were talking in the portrait gallery and I had to step out for a second and when I came back she was gone.”

Robert, who had his eye on Cersei now wafting unmolested down the corridor, was barely following.

“Nope, haven’t seen Brian.”

“Brienne! Brienne Tarth!”

Robert blinked and wondered why she was even here to begin with.

“Haven’t seen Tarth either. If you could just excuse me—“

But apparently Jaime couldn’t. 

“Say congrats on the division championship by the way, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“Um thanks, yeah the team missed you,” Robert muttered, wincing as Cersei disappeared around a corner and hurrying to catch up. Jaime, for unfathomable reasons, matched his stride.

“So early decision results are coming in. Any word from the Aerie?”

“Eh, kind of a done deal. I’m not worried,” Robert said, ducking the question.

“Of course. A promising academic mind like yours can’t go unrecognized,” Jaime said lightly. Robert knew Lannister was making fun of him, but he’d gotten around the corner and discovered the hall opened into two separate foyers that led in two different directions. Which had she taken?

“I can see it at work right now. The furrowed brow, the jutted chin... a genius weighs his options.”

Robert shot Jaime a glare and then chose the left path at random, mostly to get away from the company.

Fortunately he caught a glimpse of Cersei receding in the distance. Throwing fancy cocktail party etiquette to the wind, he put his shoulder down and bulldozed through the room, upsetting at least one waiter and their tray of plates.

Cersei cast a scornful look behind her and briefly their eyes met. Then she was walking up the stairs, perhaps a trifle faster than she had been.

“Hey!” Robert called after her. “Slow down a minute will you, I’m trying to talk to you!”

“I can’t think why,” Cersei said coldly.

Robert gritted his teeth and counted backwards from five to avoid swearing at her. Unfortunately this gave her ample opportunity to reach her bedroom, go inside, and slam the door. As he heard the lock click, Robert considered just kicking it down. Then he could grab her by shoulders and shake her like a bobble-head until she started behaving normally again.

He sighed and sat down against the door. It was so disappointing when violence couldn’t solve problems.

“Cersei, I’m sorry,” he said, lying through his teeth. Well sort of. He was certainly sorry that his actions had produced these particular results. He just couldn’t quite make himself regret banging that Iron born chick. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said. “We can renegotiate the contract. You don’t have to come to any of my parties and I’ll come to all of yours.”

“I tore up the contract,” the voice on the other side of the door said. It sounded small, and Robert briefly flashed on the pale face that had stared down at him the other night, the sparkle of a tear he’d seen fall.

“Okay, fuck the contract,” Robert said. He wasn’t sure where to go from here. “I got into the Aerie,” he said finally. No response. He pulled the envelope out from where it had been stuffed in his pants and opened it, examining the contents. “They sent a course catalogue,” he said. “You wanted to sit in on some poli sci classes right?” He carefully began to tear out the relevant page and then pushed it part way under the door.

“I can’t go with you if we’re not dating,” the voice on the other side of the door scoffed. It sounded a little more like Cersei, and Robert was encouraged, even though the page on the floor hadn’t moved.

“Who said we aren’t dating?” Robert asked.

“I did. After I caught you. And again just now. Are you hard of hearing or just stupid?” The voice was sounding distinctly like Cersei.

“You said the contract was done. And that you tore up the contract,” Robert corrected, trying not to sound smug even though he totally had her. “Loads of people date without contracts. Most of them even.”

There was a long pause.

The page on the floor abruptly slid all the way under the door, vanishing on the other side.

“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings, kid,” Robert said, not lying at all.

“I’m not a kid,” the voice huffed.

“Princess,” Robert amended.

“I hate that stupid name. You call all girls that name.”

“Queen?” Robert offered teasingly.

“… better,” the voice muttered. “I want the pre-law classes too.”

Robert tore out the pre-law classes and slid those under the door as well. He inspected the course catalogue idly. Clearly he wouldn’t be majoring in either of those. History? History sounded easy. Jon Arryn was pushing for him to do Literature, but Jon always seemed to be laboring under the impression that Robert was good for something besides football.

“Can I see the minors?” 

There went another section of the catalogue. Robert hadn’t been planning to minor in anything anyway.

“You don’t think I’m overreaching? Double major and a minor?” The voice asked. “Jaime thinks I’m foolish for trying.”

Robert blinked. People didn’t normally ask for his opinion on these things.

“No, of course not,” he said firmly. “You can do anything you put your mind to. I don’t know if anyone has ever told you this Cersei, but you’re fucking terrifying.”

There was a snicker from the other side of the door.

“I’ll have next year to take some college-level classes and get a jump start on fulfilling my credit requirements,” the voice mused.

“Robert.” This did not come from behind the door he was leaning against, and Robert looked around startled. Stannis was walking toward him, his always serious features somehow even more serious. Robert drew his knees to his chest defensively and scowled.

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking all over the party for you,” Stannis scolded. Robert sneered.

“What are you my keeper?”

“What are you even doing?!” Stannis said exasperatedly. 

“I’m going over my college course catalogue,” Robert said, just to see his little brother’s eyebrows raise a little. That’s right. He could do stuff.

“You look like you’re destroying it,” Stannis replied pointedly.

“What do you care? It’s not your course catalogue!” Robert snapped.

Stannis took a deep breath. 

“That’s really not what I came up here to talk about,” he said. “There’s been an accident.”

“Renly? What happened?” Robert got to his feet.

“Um not Renly.”

“Mom and Dad? I just saw them—”

“No—”

“Is it Mel—”

“Would you just listen to me?!” Stannis yelled. 

Robert folded his arms. Stannis took another deep breath.

“It’s all over the news. There was an attempt on the mayor’s life. A car bomb. Only he wasn’t in the car. His son Rhaegar was. He was killed. And… Lyanna Stark was in the car too.”

Robert was glad he was leaning against the door.

“Dead?” He said gruffly.

“Dunno, critical condition is what the news said.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Are you um… all right?” Stannis asked uncertainly. He didn’t know what to say. Well, Robert thought, that made two of them. What exactly were you supposed to say when your ex got blown up by a car bomb?

“I think so. I’m going to call Ned,” Robert answered curtly. Stannis seemed relieved. Apparently that was the right thing to say.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” Stannis hurried away.

Ned sounded frantic. She wasn’t dead. She had internal bleeding and massive head injuries and was in a coma. They wouldn’t let anybody in to see her. How was he doing?! How did Robert think he was doing, his twin sister was—he was sorry. He was stressed. No he didn’t need anything. He would call Robert if he did. Robert was a good friend. 

The phone call ended, and Robert stood there, waiting for something to happen. He pictured Lyanna, lying on a hospital bed, dying or nearly dead. How awful. He felt it in a vague way, like you might about a starving village in Sothyros. How awful for Ned. That felt realer. Poor Ned who took the world’s problems on his shoulders as it was, he would find some way to blame himself for this. He tried to picture Lyanna again. Tried to summon the ghost that had haunted him for months, but it was like trying to hold water, forever sliding out of reach.

The door to Cersei’s bedroom opened.

“Robert, do you need to sit down? Do you need a drink?” She asked nervously. Nerves didn’t sit well on her. She looked regal in her tiara. Queenie. Robert walked into her bedroom. He realized he had never been here before. Only that weird playroom.

“I’m good,” he said absently, looking around.

“You aren’t… sad?” Cersei was scanning his features, like the answer would be written on his face.

“I don’t feel sad,” Robert eyed the oversized vanity table, a bookshelf, a desk, how organized everything was.

“What do you feel?” She prodded.

“I don’t feel anything,” he swallowed, the terrible truth dawning on him. He didn’t feel anything for Lyanna. That had been all he had felt, for so long. He wondered what was left when you took that away.

She sat on her bed. He sat next to her. 

For a long time nobody said anything.

She still didn’t say anything when he put his hand on her knee. Didn’t say anything when he tilted her chin toward him. He paused before he kissed her, and again when he started to work her dress up.

She didn’t say anything at all until he pushed inside her, gasping at the sensation, as her legs curled around his hips to pull him deeper, and he buried his face in the golden curls that spilled outward on the bed beneath her tiara.

“Robert,” she breathed, her lips burning against his ear.

“Cersei,” he growled and kept going until all he could feel was her.


	61. Bri/Thor (A Winter's Tale 6 of 9)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody! Just a reminder to check out the chapter (Robert's POV) I posted yesterday off-schedule if you haven't seen it before you read this one!

Brienne checked her dress again, smoothing the pleats.

“I don’t know,” she fretted.

“Brienne, honey, you look great,” her father groaned. “Renly, tell her she looks great.”

“You look great Bri!” Renly chirped from the computer screen where he had Ravyned in.

“Now if you don’t hurry up, we’re going to be late, and if half of what I hear about Tywin Lannister is true, that will make a far worse impression,” Selwyn Tarth checked his watch.

“What?! Why didn’t you tell me we were running late!” Brienne frantically ran back up the stairs to shove her belongings into the ridiculously tiny handbag Renly had chosen to accessorize the outfit. Can’t be late, can’t be late.

“Stop worrying, Stannis isn’t even dressed yet,” Renly laughed from the computer screen when she came hurrying back down and re-entered the camera frame. 

“I doubt that,” Brienne frowned. “Stannis seems very organized.”

“He’s not dressed yet because I took one of each of his dress socks and hid them,” Renly chortled to himself. “He can’t wear mismatching socks. It’s very weird and OCD.”

“Return his socks,” Brienne shook her finger at him, but she was distracted looking for her driver’s license. There it was.

“I don’t think I will,” Renly smirked. Brienne rolled her eyes and hung up on the conversation by flipping the laptop closed.

When Jaime had initially said he couldn’t come to New Year’s Eve dinner because of a family commitment, Brienne had been disappointed but understanding. Then he had suggested that she and her father come to his family’s event instead, and her stomach had dissolved into butterflies that hadn’t stopped fluttering around her rib cage since that first night of winter break. 

Not only did he want her to officially meet his father, he wanted her father to meet his father. His father, Tywin Lannister, the richest man in the city, and the most corrupt if the tabloids were to be believed. Which they weren’t. All the same, the way Jaime spoke of his father was not flattering. And the man she had met in the hospital during Jaime’s surgery had lived up to every one of those descriptions.

Brienne chewed her lip.

What if Tywin Lannister didn’t like her? Most parents did, but she had always been introduced as a friend, not a girlfriend. Cersei didn’t like her very much, Brienne suspected, although it was almost impossible to tell what Jaime’s twin was thinking. Tyrion did, but from how Jaime talked, that would be a black mark against her in Tywin’s book.

They pulled into the palatial Lannister estates on time, and Brienne breathed a slow sigh of relief.

First disaster averted.

A valet rushed to take their car, and then a waiter hurried over with a tray of champagne and sparkling water, as another helped her out of her winter jacket. They hadn’t even made it in the door yet, and Brienne was already overwhelmed.

“Brienne!” Jaime bounded down the stairs and swept her into a hug and the rising tides of panic temporarily receded. She let herself relax in his arms, savoring how strong his arms felt and how good he smelled.

“Jaime,” a voice coughed behind them.

“Mr. Tarth,” Jaime said sheepishly, letting her go.

“Good to see you again. How was the end of your fall semester?”

Brienne floated along behind them, savoring this surreally out of body experience. A fair mix of adults were already there, but few people her age. As predicted by Renly, the Baratheons had not yet arrived. Addam Marbrand was talking politely to a thin older man who looked vaguely like Jaime in the nose—Brienne recalled Jaime saying that his father had a lot of siblings.

Eventually, her father ran into some people he knew from work, and he mercifully detached.

“Finally, wench, I thought we’d never be alone,” Jaime whispered in her ear, his breath tickling down her neck.

“We’re not alone. We’re standing in the middle of a cocktail party,” Brienne said reprovingly. She flushed anyway, and thought it was somewhat unfair for someone as good looking as Jaime to put on a suit. He was wearing the jacket and no tie, and the open button at the top gave just a peek of his chest. Brienne swallowed. 

“So right as always,” Jaime offered his arm and when she didn’t notice quickly enough, took her hand and placed it properly. Brienne could feel his muscles through the suit, and began to suspect the dreaded blush would come back. Did he have to look quite so suave?

“Can I offer you a tour of the Lannister portrait gallery?” Jaime asked, green eyes twinkling, as if he could read her thoughts.

“You have a portrait gallery?” Brienne’s jaw dropped.

“Don’t ask,” Jaime rolled his eyes, and a flicker of the snarky boy she was accustomed to briefly shone through the besuited sex god.

“The silver lining is that it is always quite... empty,” Jaime purred. Eep, sex god was back.

“Let’s see the portrait gallery,” Brienne managed to eke out of her rapidly drying mouth.

Lucky for her, not even Jaime-in-a-suit’s sex appeal could withstand an entire room of glowering Lannister faces. Dozens of blonde heads, male and female, all with the same thin lips and narrow noses and suspicious green stares.

“That fellow was a naval captain in the nineteenth century,” Jaime pointed. “Utterly bonkers about law and order. Lashes for being late to supper, that sort of thing. Died when his own men marooned him after a mutiny.”

“How dreadful,” Brienne said politely.

“I tend to fall on the side of the mutineers,” Jaime winked. “Look at that chin! I’d hate to have old Tyson glaring down his chin at me. They should have mutinied for the chin alone!”

Brienne snuggled up against him and listened to him babble, the unending noise as soothing and nonsensical as a creek.

“Father takes Tyson’s side of course. I suspect he thinks the issue was that Tyson was too soft. Lashes for tardiness? The only solution is execution. That way it never happens again,” Jaime was saying.

“Mr. Lannister?” A polite voice broke in.

“Oh, hullo Westerling,” Jaime gave him a dismissive glance.

“Mr. Lannister, the Baratheon car was just sighted turning in, you’ve been requested to locate master Tyrion to keep young master Baratheon entertained.”

“Can’t you find him? He’s probably just reading in his room,” Jaime frowned.

“Your father has requested my continued presence on the ground floor to make sure the night’s events run smoothly,” Westerling replied.

“I’m sorry wench, this will take three shakes of a lamb’s tail,” Jaime kissed her lightly. “Don’t move a muscle.”

As Jaime and Westerling vanished, Brienne looked around nervously.

If anything the portraits had only grown more hostile. She had the sense that their eyes were following every movement she made with disdain. She took a cautious step to the right. The eyes followed. A step to the left. The eyes followed again. Brienne considered her empty glass of champagne and wondered if she had time to get to the bar and get a second before Jaime returned.

“Miss Tarth,” Westerling returned. “Mr. Lannister is waiting for you in the study. Allow me to escort you.”

No champagne for her.

Westerling drew her deeper into the house, a dizzying series of left and right turns that Brienne was unsure she could replicate. Not that she would need to. Jaime had barely left her side all evening.

Then he ushered her into a dark paneled study where the air smelled like cigar smoke, and closed the door after her with an ominous click. Her eyes met pale blue-green ones and she realized that she was now trapped in the study with the wrong Mr. Lannister.

~~~~

Despite being totally illegal and also a little gross, the red temple at King’s Landing would be sacrificing a bull for New Year’s. They did it every year, and honestly, some of the temples in Essos got way crazier. Have you ever seen a swan set on fire? Thoros never needed to again.

But keeping a bull in the temple for the week leading up to the big day required someone to clean its stall and shovel its shit and keep it fed. The moment Thoros had seen the voicemail on his phone on this, the morning of Saturday, December 31, he had known that today, that job was his.

He had put it on speaker as he had gotten dressed. Irregular presence at temple services, dress unbecoming of R’hllor’s faithful, yada yada yada, serving at the soup kitchen drunk—fuck them, that was months ago—foul language, sleeping through sermons, please report no later than noon for four hours of penance.

Sure enough, Moqorro ushered him into the darkest dampest courtyard in the complex, one far from the eyes of prying non-believers, pointed to the pitchfork, the shovel, and the bale of hay and patted him on the head.

“Did you do something new with your hair?” Moqorro joked. Thoros, knee deep in animal shit and keeping a wary eye on the snorting animal at the other side of the pen, glared.

“You should tell High Priest Benerro that you have shorn away your vanities to better honor R’hllor in the coming year.”

“Would it get me off his naughty list?” Thoros gave the hay a vicious stab with his pitchfork.

“Probably not.”

“Fuck that guy then.”

“Oh Thoros. When will you learn that the nail that sticks out gets hammered down?” Moqorro sighed.

“When you pricks find a bigger hammer,” Thoros muttered. Moqorro laughed.

“I liked your hair better long for the record.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Then I’ll leave you to it,” the old man lifted a hand in an amiable wave. He wasn’t that bad. Probably the reason he was about a hundred and had never advanced beyond director of community outreach. Benerro on the other hand… Let’s just say the priests in Norvos would have loved that guy.

The bull snorted, and Thoros raised his pitchfork preemptively.

Five hours later, smelling like a barnyard, he trudged through the front door of the apartment.

“You said dinner was at six,” Melisandre pursed her lips. “You have thirty minutes before we need to catch the bus and you reek.”

Thoros glanced at her and then winced.

“Mel, tell me you’re not wearing that,” he groaned.

“It’s a dress.”

“I don’t think there’s enough fabric for it to be a dress.”

“Were you planning on showering?” 

“Promise you’ll at least put something on over it? It’s Beric’s parents not a Dothraki horse lord.”

“I’m not wearing it for Beric’s parents or a Dothraki horse lord. I’m wearing it for Stannis. I’m going to find him at the afterparty and we’re going to—”

“Stop! Just wear something over it for dinner and let me take a shower before my ears start bleeding.”

He showered, shaved, and put his khakis and his good red button-down on at warp speed. He reemerged feeling vaguely proud of himself.

“You shaved?!” Melisandre stared at him.

“Are you serious with that?!” Thoros stared at her.

“You told me to put something on. You wear it literally every day,” Melisandre defensively rolled up the sleeves on his hoodie.

“People shave all the time,” Thoros ran the back of his hand over his cheek self-consciously.

“You look like you’re ten. Good luck getting served at bars,” Melisandre snorted.

“Shall we talk about what you look like?” Thoros growled. The hoodie was obviously far too large for her and combined with the shortness of the dress, it gave the impression she was wearing the hoodie and nothing else.

“Would you prefer I leave it here?” Melisandre eyed the kitchen clock meaningfully.

“The next time you call me with a broken down car, I’m going to remember this,” Thoros sighed and then they set off for the Stormlands.

“You still smell like manure,” Melisandre informed him once they were on the bus.

“It’s actually coming from you,” he said, trying to keep the smirk off his face. That would teach her to wear his clothes.

“I hope my scent shan’t drive Mrs. Dondarrion to the fainting couch,” Melisandre riposted in a Jane Austen accent.

It did not. Mrs. Dondarrion seemed much calmer and friendlier than he remembered from the hospital. Of course, he had perhaps not been catching her at her best moment. She certainly hadn’t caught him at his.

“Thoros and Melisandre! We were so happy you could join us tonight!” She fussed over them, and scolded Melisandre for not wearing a heavier jacket in this weather and never once mentioned the smell.

“You have to tell me what Beric’s been up to, I never see my baby boy any more!” She beamed. “Of course you probably haven’t seen him much lately either,” she winked.

Beric, who had been walking out of the kitchen, immediately had a coughing fit.

“Because of exams,” he supplied quickly. “Thoros, you cut your hair!”

“Do you like it?” Thoros asked hopefully. 

“Um, you definitely look better without a beard,” Beric gave him a sheepish smile. Thoros felt crestfallen and maybe it showed on his face, because Beric immediately brought him a beer and their hands touched for slightly longer than they had to.

“I think it looks much nicer than how it was,” Ceylena Dondarrion put in. Melisandre glared at her. Daric Dondarrion, Beric’s father, picked that moment to make an appearance.

“Well kids, the turkey’s just about done,” he said rubbing his hands. He did a visible double-take at Melisandre’s outfit. Melisandre smiled sweetly and Thoros resisted the urge to face palm.

“Are you um Beric’s girlfriend?” his father managed.

“I don’t have a girlfriend, dad, we’ve talked about this,” Beric growled.

“Oh, you must be Beric’s friends from High Hill,” Daric looked relieved. 

“Yessir,” Thoros answered quickly. Behind Beric’s father, Melisandre made a gagging expression.

“Turkey you said? That sounds amazing,” Thoros continued weakly, trying to ignore her.

“I couldn’t believe it when Beric said you were here all by yourselves,” Beric’s mother interjected. “You poor things, I’m just glad I can get a good meal into you.”

“You’re too kind,” Melisandre narrowed her eyes.

“It must be terribly lonely without your parents. Who looks after you exactly?” Ceylena pushed.

“We look after each other,” Melisandre replied curtly. 

“We live in community housing sponsored by our temple,” Thoros interjected. “I’m eighteen, but we still have a great deal of support, both financial and otherwise, from our temple elders.” He sounded like he was going door-to-door with the good word, but it was better than Oliver Twist as told by Melisandre.

Mrs. Dondarrion looked unconvinced. Was it Thoros’ imagination, or was it really hot in here? He took a long gulp of beer.

They sat down around the mahogany dining table.

“Melisandre is on the honor roll,” Beric chimed in, trying to make them seem like well-adjusted and productive members of society. Good luck with that.

“How about you Thoros?” Beric’s father asked.

“He got an A in Calculus,” Beric said proudly.

“A minus,” Melisandre muttered.

“Have you gotten all of your college applications in?” Daric continued. Thoros was having flashbacks of Homecoming.

“I thought I’d work for a few years first,” Thoros managed. Melisandre snorted. It was Beric’s father’s turn to look unconvinced.

“Are you going to carve that thing?” Beric interjected, poking the turkey. Thoros shot him a look of relief, and Beric gave him a quick thumbs up. Well, that might be overstating things, Thoros thought.

The turkey was dry. The green beans fine. Cranberry relish was a peculiar Westerosi tradition that Thoros didn’t care for. He forced himself to swallow the last bite of turkey on his plate, nearly gagging.

“Seconds?” Mr. Dondarrion beamed.

“Of course,” Thoros squeaked.

“See Beric, I told you the turkey wasn’t overdone. Darling, give Thoros some more of that cranberry relish.”

Thoros looked at his empty beer can despondently.

“May I have another drink?” He asked.

“Sure, Beric, can you get some water for Thoros dear? You two have already had a drink each and I prefer to keep it at one while you’re underage. I’m sure you understand,” Ceylena Dondarrion smiled at him.

“Oh yeah, me too,” Thoros answered weakly. Beric left to get more water. After a minute, Melisandre stood as well.

“Just checking my phone, I’ll be right back,” she said.

The Dondarrions turned back to Thoros.

“You’re not eating your turkey, is something wrong?” Daric asked.

“Of course not!” Thoros hastily shoved another bite into his mouth. “Delicious,” he said around a mouthful of turkey. Ceylena looked pained at the display of manners, and Thoros tried not to wince.

“What kind of job are you hoping to get after school?” Daric inquired. 

“I wash dishes at the moment,” Thoros replied vaguely, hoping that would be sufficient.

“At a restaurant?” Daric asked. “I was a waiter one summer in college myself.”

“Yeah, kind of a restaurant,” Thoros scratched his head. Where was Beric with that water?

“Which one? There’s some amazing cuisine in King’s Landing, I’m always up for trying new places.”

“Oh, this one’s nothing special,” Thoros mumbled, trying to suppress the image of Beric’s parents sitting down to what passed for food at Hollow Hill.

“You’re too modest! Just give us the name, maybe we’ll surprise you some day!” Beric’s father pressed.

Where was Melisandre for that matter?

“I’m actually about to move jobs,” Thoros fibbed. “Better salary. I’ll let you know the name of the new place once it’s a done deal.”

“A power play, I like it!” Daric Dondarrion toasted him with his glass of wine. It looked very nice, Thoros thought sadly.

But seriously. Where the heck were Beric and Melisandre?!


	62. Bri/Stan (A Winter's Tale 7 of 9)

“Good evening Miss Tarth,” Tywin Lannister put down a glass of scotch he’d been contemplating. “Do make yourself comfortable.”

Brienne looked around the study, which was conspicuously devoid of any chair except the one Tywin sat in, and an armchair facing a crackling fire.

She started to try to pull the armchair around to face him, but it made a horrendous screeching noise on the wood. Seeing his eyebrows rise, she hastily leaned against the armchair instead and tried to look composed.

“I had not realized, when we met at the hospital, the nature of your acquaintance with my son,” Tywin frowned at her, and the level of warmth in his voice dropped to arctic temperatures.

“We were just friends at the time,” Brienne jumped in nervously, anxious to reassure him that she had not been keeping him in the dark.

“So you’re saying that you are now... more than friends?” He inflected an innuendo that Brienne certainly never intended.

“No! Not at all, we’re waiting, I just mean we weren’t um... dating when I met you before,” Brienne was gripping her champagne flute so tightly she idly wondered if it was possible to break them that way.

“Hmm,” he made a neutral sound, neither believing nor disbelieving.

“Do you make a habit of ‘um... dating’ young men who have just left the hospital and are at vulnerable stages in their lives?”

“What?” Brienne squawked, taken aback at the insinuation.

“You’ve been quite insistent on the chronology my dear. You were not dating before Jaime was injured. Now that he is injured, dealing with the loss of certain hobbies, withdrawn from friends, emotionally isolated, well, now you are dating.”

“To answer your question, I do not make a habit of dating at all,” Brienne answered through gritted teeth. “Jaime is my first boyfriend. Since you are so fond of noticing things, perhaps you have noticed that I am fourteen and six feet tall. I promise you, six foot freshmen girls are not the man eaters you seem to believe.” She spat the last part, ashamed at how raw and angry the words became.

If Tywin was offended or taken aback he gave no sign. If anything, he seemed pleased. Whether it was because he had been convinced that she was not preying on his son or because he had gotten under her skin was unclear.

“In my experience, people who enjoyed freshman year of high school are rarely worth knowing,” Tywin took a sip of scotch. “You have a very strong academic record. Qyburn in particular speaks quite highly of you.”

Brienne reeled.

“You looked at my academic record? You interviewed my teachers?” She goggled.

“Naturally,” Tywin raised an eyebrow. 

“How?” Brienne blurted. Weren’t the academic records kept in a vault buried under the desert somewhere, along with priceless antiquities and historical artifacts?

“I have been a generous donor to King’s Landing Prep for many years. It is not unusual for me to tour the school grounds. And if in the process I run into a few teachers of my acquaintance, it hardly would be notable for me to inquire after one of their students. As for the academic records, I think it’s a little early for me to be sharing all my secrets,” Tywin smirked. Then his expression shifted to something harder.

“Now Miss Tarth. I appreciate that one’s first relationship is tremendously exciting. And I’m sure you appreciate that statistically, this is unlikely to be your last relationship. After all, you’re fourteen. I think you’ll find as you get older, men come to value a woman of intelligence regardless of her height. In fact, if certain high school blogs are to be believed, you are already not without other admirers.”

Damn Varys to the seven hells. It was one kiss!

“My concern is this. Junior spring is the most important moment academically in a student’s high school career. Given the current decline in college acceptance rates, I would go so far as to posit that it is the most important moment academically in a student’s life. If Jaime is distracted or unfocused, he could do irreparable harm to his chances of admission at the Citadel or the Aerie, and without a top tier university degree, he will find he has to work that much harder to prove himself in the business world.”

“I’ve been encouraging him to study, his grades have never been—”

“Please wait until I am finished talking. Miss Tarth, I would like to propose a college scholarship to a bright young talent in the sciences, which Qyburn is quite adamant that you are. Encouraging young women to enter the STEM fields is a pet cause within my strata of society and perhaps it’s time that Lannister Corp did its part. I would be proud to sponsor you for four years of fully-paid tuition to a college of your choosing, provided that you and Jaime take the next twelve months to focus on your studies rather than pursue each other romantically.”

Brienne swallowed. Four years of fully paid tuition? That was two hundred thousand dragons at minimum. She didn’t even want to think about what kind of difference that would make to her father. They were perfectly comfortable, but they had been a single-income household since her mother’s death, and she had seen her father looking up second mortgages more than once. Meanwhile Tywin had continued speaking.

“Note that twelve months isn’t even the remainder of Jaime’s career at King’s Landing Prep. Should you wish to resume this relationship in the spring of his senior year, you would have my blessing. If you both care for each other, and I have no reason to think otherwise, the next twelve months will fly by.”

“No.”

“You’ll even be able to use your tuition to follow Jaime to whatever college he ends up picking, if that is a path you are interested in taking. Personally I would advise choosing an institution based upon its own merits, but I want to emphasize that this is truly a no-strings offer—”

“No.”

The second time it registered. Tywin Lannister set his scotch down.

“Excuse me?”

“You are trying to bribe me to break up with your son and my answer is no.”

“I think the word bribe implies an unwarranted level of sordidness.”

“I am pleased that Mr. Qyburn thinks so highly of my abilities in AP Bio, but I think you can find recipients more deserving of your contribution to the advancement of women in STEM. Which is very generous and a worthy cause. But I would not break up with your son for a scholarship.”

Tywin cleared his throat.

“Did you have a counter-proposal in mind? Something that you would break up with my son for?”

Brienne stared at him. 

“…let me rephrase. I would not break up with your son for a scholarship. I would not even do his homework for a scholarship. What you are proposing is ethically wrong.”

Now it was Tywin’s turn to stare.

“I must say, I find you quite unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” he said at last. 

“The feeling is mutual,” Brienne assured him. 

“I believe this conversation is at an end,” Tywin said stiffly. He rose and opened the study door.

“Please enjoy the festivities Miss Tarth.”

“Will you not be joining us?” Brienne asked, suddenly doubtful about her ability to find her way back to the main rooms.

“Not for some time. I am making adjustments to my emerging market fund portfolio and frankly, I do not care for parties.”

~~~~

Stannis took another sip of sparkling water. He had had some inkling at the outset that this was going to be a wildly unpleasant adventure, but in this regard, the Lannister holiday party had grossly exceeded expectations.

Initial red flags had included Robert’s unbearable surliness this entire winter break. Robert was frequently unpleasant in the weeks following the conclusion of the football season. His brand of noxious energy required an outlet best fulfilled by physical activity, the more violent the better. Stannis had expected a certain amount of headlocks and dead arms, an increase in his already short-tempered brother’s volatility. What he had not expected was prolonged periods of lethargy, punctuated by bursts of anxiety, reclusiveness and above all, a sustained quiet that left both of his brothers deeply on edge.

Robert didn’t do quiet. Robert’s range was loud to deafening. He breathed loudly for the Mother’s sake. And while Stannis could maybe reconcile himself to this new quieter person, he could not reconcile himself to the effect it had on Renly.

Robert had always been Renly’s preferred target for terrorism. Stannis assumed that his parents’ rather ‘hands-off’ style of parenting had created in Renly a kind of void that required him to be the center of attention at all times. Robert, with his volume permanently set to eleven, was a natural enemy to that ambition. Further, Robert’s reactions were no doubt more rewarding then Stannis’ internally seething rage.

Unfortunately, Renly had been so unsettled by Robert’s brooding that he had refocused his attentions. 

Stannis had emerged from the shower earlier to discover that the sock drawer in his bureau had been desecrated. It took a peculiarly sartorial mind to find the joy in removing exactly one of each of Stannis’ dress socks, and Stannis hadn’t the slightest doubt who was to blame.

Stannis had admittedly wasted a few moments holding various shades of navy socks up to the light in hopes that two would be close enough not to bother him. He had been so desperate as to go into Robert’s sock drawer, only to discover that most of his dress socks were not clean, many of them were hideous novelty socks, and so many were missing their corresponding mate that one would think Renly had played a similar prank on him.

His next stop was Renly’s room, where he was fully prepared to dangle the little menace head first over the toilet to get answers, but it was locked.

Stannis jingled the door handle impatiently and then banged on the door a couple times.

“Renly I know you’re in there!” He roared.

“Stannis, be quiet, I’m Ravyning with Brienne and you’re being rude,” Renly shot back. Stannis brooded.

He was finally forced to ask his father for a pair, which in turn necessitated a careful examination of the different shades to make sure they actually matched. Somebody had given Robert his poor genes after all, and Stannis suspected that Cassana Baratheon had never had a hair out of place in her life.

“Renly! Get off the computer! I’ve told you a dozen times now, we’re going to be late,” Steffon Baratheon shouted from downstairs. “Stannis, just choose a damn pair and get your ass into gear!”

The two brothers emerged at the same time. Stannis glared and Renly sneered. The tension would not have been out of place in an old western.

“After you,” Stannis bit out.

Renly was so busy keeping one eye over his shoulder that he didn’t even realize he was sliding into the car first until it was too late. He tried to scramble back out again, but Stannis was already sitting in the window spot and locking the door. On the other side, Robert retained enough of his schadenfreude to snicker.

“MOOOOOMMM!” Renly bellowed. “They did it again, they stuck me in the middle! They always do this, it’s not fair! You know I get carsick!”

“I’m sure they don’t do it on purpose, Renly,” Cassana sighed and delicately pressed her fingertips to her eyelids.

“They do!!! You don’t know because you’re never here, but they do this stuff all the time! It’s not fair!!!” Renly whined.

Stannis rested his head against the window and resigned himself to an entire car ride of Renly reciting the litany of war crimes perpetuated upon him by his brothers.

“And Robert donated a bunch of my clothes to Goodwill, and then Stannis locked me out of the house and turned the sprinklers on…” they had only made it as far as Homecoming when the car turned into the Lannister estates. Normally Stannis would have made some effort to defend himself against such unjustified slander, but let’s face it, his parents didn’t give two shits.

He honestly couldn’t escape the car fast enough. He snagged a glass of sparkling water and quickly wound his way through the foyer, looking for the safest place to lurk away from his family. 

He eventually settled on a corner where Sandor Clegane had posted up next to a tray of tiny hot dogs. 

“Hullo Clegane,” he said.

“Baratheon.”

Stannis reached for a hot dog, only to be met by a strange rumbling sound that emanated from Clegane’s chest. He cautiously retracted his hand. The growling ceased.

“Any update on your brother’s trial?”

“Got a plea deal. Guilty in exchange for being sentenced as juvenile. Sentencing hearing is in a month,” Clegane grunted.

“He deserves worse.”

“Aye.”

There was a long silence. Stannis checked his watch. Five minutes had passed.

“Do you want to find a television?” He asked finally. Clegane picked up the tray of hot dogs and nodded in response.

Stannis had been to the Lannister house enough times to remember the basic ground floor layout without getting lost. He took them to a remote game room, featuring a billiards table in addition to a dart board and a television. Stannis settled on the leather couch and turned on the news. Clegane racked the balls on the billiards table, and proceeded to play himself.

The next hour passed rather peacefully. Stannis was starting to think that the evening might take a turn for the better. The news program was reporting that a judge had dismissed all charges against Lannister Corp. No doubt that explained the heavy attendance at this year’s party. Everyone who had tried to distance themselves from Tywin Lannister was now wondering whether it would not behoove them to start getting back in his good graces. Doubly fools. First for thinking that Tywin Lannister would lose a battle with city hall and second for thinking attendance at a party would be remotely sufficient recompense.

Then the familiar urgent beats of breaking news broke through the ongoing segment.

“We bring you now to the Mayor’s residence, where the police and Mayor Targaryen are preparing to make a statement,” a breathless reporter announced.

“Approximately forty-five minutes ago, an attempt was made on Mayor Targaryen’s life by a person or persons unknown,” Commissioner Owen Merrywether announced grimly. Behind him, Deputy Commissioner Jeor Mormont was frowning. “In this they were unsuccessful. We regret to inform the public, however, that this attempt has claimed the life of Mayor Targaryen’s oldest child, Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Stannis turned up the volume. Behind him, the crack of a cue against billiard balls ceased.

Commissioner Merrywether had hurried away from the podium and Deputy Commissioner Mormont now stepped up.

“A car bomb went off in the family’s personal car at nineteen hundred hours this evening. The car was being driven by Rhaegar Targaryen at the intersection of Harrenhall and Joy. He was found on the scene dead. A passenger, identified as one Lyanna Stark, was in critical condition and has been hospitalized for injuries relating to the explosion. Her condition is currently unknown. At this point we do not have any suspects or leads for this heinous act although the investigation is ongoing,” he looked directly into the camera, eyes blazing. “If anybody has any further information, we urge them to call the hotline that you see on the screen before you.” A series of numbers flashed across the screen, and Stannis looked away blinking.

Lyanna might be dead?

His brain struggled to wrap around that concept. Lyanna was as elemental as the wind that buffeted Shipbreaker’s Bay. She had always been there, tearing through and sweeping everything into her wake and leaving a mess behind. People their age didn’t die, much less Lyanna, who if not Robert’s soulmate exactly, had been his counterpoint, the thing his axis spun around. 

Robert. Robert didn’t know. Nobody at the party knew. Stannis got to his feet. Where was Robert? He wandered through room after room, a few people checking their phones and murmuring in low voices. He saw his parents, laughing with the Martells. They didn’t know. Renly and Tyrion, trying to pour themselves some wine when the bartender wasn’t looking. They didn’t know.

He briefly stuck his head out into the gardens, interrupting what appeared to be an intense discussion between Jaime Lannister and Brienne Tarth. Finally, he ascended to the second floor, concluding that Robert must have gone to take a piss where the line was shorter.

Instead he found his brother sitting on the floor, reading some kind of catalogue. Stannis wasn’t sure how one embarked on the unpleasant task of destroying your brother’s life, but he took some cold comfort in thinking all ways were probably equally terrible.

Robert took it… well? Better than he had taken the break up, or at least with a great deal less screaming and howling. All the same, Stannis couldn’t help but feel like he very badly needed a drink. A real one, parental permission be damned.

And then his phone rang. He would have groaned, but it was Melisandre, and some part of his heart skipped a beat for her even on the absolute worst of days.

“Hey,” he said gruffly. “I don’t know if there’s going to be an after par—”

“Can you pick me up?” Melisandre asked. “Like as soon as possible?”

Stannis did not have a car, and every social more dictated that he stay at this party until his family was prepared to leave. It was basically a rule.

“Of course.”


	63. Ber/Jaim (A Winter's Tale 8 of 9)

“I wish you had let me order a cooked turkey from the club,” Ceylena Dondarrion fretted. “We don’t even know if that thermometer is working properly. Beric, dear, are you sure they like turkey? I don’t think they really do turkey in Essos. I knew we should have gotten ham. Daric, is it too late to get ham?”

“They’re just so excited to have a traditional Westerosi New Years dinner. You have no idea,” Beric kissed his mother on the forehead and willed her to stop worrying. Then he took a glimpse at the thermometer sticking out of the bird, peering through the oven window. Was it working? Maybe they should have gotten ham.

“You two have no faith in me,” Daric Dondarrion groaned. “I know how to cook a turkey.” His wife shot his son a long-suffering look.

“Now who’s coming again? Not the girlfriend?”

“Don’t mention the girlfriend!” Beric snapped. “I can’t believe you told him Mom, you weren’t supposed to tell anybody.” Part One of the plan hadn’t been a total disaster, in that his mother had stopped conniving to send him across the planet. But it had gone... somewhat askew. Certainly his parents seemed incapable of letting the subject matter drop. Gods forbid they say something in front of Thoros. That would be difficult to explain.

But Part Two of the plan was going perfectly, Beric reminded himself. His mother had loved the idea of meeting Beric’s friends, and was no doubt already scheming ways to grill them for insider information. If anything she had gotten just a bit too worked up about the whole thing.

“The turkey has been in there for at least twenty extra minutes, I don’t think the thermometer is working,” Beric’s mother fretted. “Darling, can you just try a taste test?”

His father disappeared into the kitchen grumbling.

“I’m sorry I told your dad, I just knew he would be so excited,” she gave him an apologetic smile. “We want you to be happy, especially after everything that happened last spring.”

“I will be happier when you stop talking about it,” Beric folded his arms and glared.

“How does Allyria feel about all this secrecy? You need to think about her feelings too, it can’t be easy on the poor girl—“

“He—I mean she is fine with it!” Beric groaned. “It’s not forever. Just for now.”

He was saved from further prying by the sound of a doorbell ringing.

“It’s them!” He shouted, and started to run for the door.

“So excited!” Ceylena laughed and playfully blocked him. “I’ll get it, you find your friends something to drink.”

Beric grabbed a beer for Thoros and a sparkling water for Melisandre. He hurried back to intercept his mother before she could blow his little Allyria Dane secret just seconds into the clock, only to be temporarily struck speechless.

Thoros had cut his hair and shaved. His normally shoulder length and ragged auburn locks, the ones Beric had twisted between his fingers a thousand times were gone. The dark red stubble that remained made him look painfully earnest.

“Thoros, you cut your hair,” Beric squeaked.

“Do you like it?” Thoros asked hopefully. With his big blue eyes and his broken nose and crooked grin, protective instincts were going off like pop rocks in the soda of Beric’s brain.

“You definitely look better without a beard,” Beric said, trying to sidestep the question. He loved playing with Thoros’ hair. The beard got a little scratchy. But his wonderful hair!

Thoros looked disappointed, and that expression on a short-haired clean-shaven Thoros was heart wrenching. Beric wanted to kiss it away. Instead he passed him the beer, and felt their hands touch and held that moment a beat longer than any platonic friend would.

His parents seemed perfectly amenable to Thoros, as Beric knew they would be. A little protective of him and his sister, but whatever, they were parents and that was their job. Beric got up to get Thoros a glass of water, feeling like things were going very well. 

He briefly ducked back into the hallway bathroom to check his reflection, not bothering with the light in the hall. He emerged into the darkened hall and yelped.

Melisandre stood in the shadows, blocking his path back to the rest of the group. In the dark, everything about her looked black except for her pale face. Long waves of black hair and enormous black eyes glaring out of a white face.

“Hello Beric.” Her voice was utterly flat. Dead even.

Beric swallowed.

“Hi Melisandre,” his voice cracked ever so slightly. Maybe he shouldn’t have watched The Faceless Men 5 last night. He kept expecting her to pull out a knife and start scuttling toward him.

“I thought we should have a talk,” she said, in a tone of voice that suggested she would prefer to carve him open and eat his organs.

...this was ridiculous. He couldn’t spend his life being scared of his boyfriend’s little sister. She wasn’t even that creepy! This was a byproduct of the bad lighting and the horror movie he had watched last night. Beric stood up straighter and rolled his shoulders back.

“Of course, allow me to show you to the sitting room,” he said politely.

“Perhaps somewhere more private,” she bared her teeth in what should have been a smile.

Don’t think about being dismembered, don’t think about knives...

“What about the back patio?”

“That works.”

He walked by her, deliberately forced himself to keep his back to her as he led her outside. It was bitterly cold, and an inch or two of snow crunched under their feet. He rubbed his arms instinctively. Melisandre didn’t seem to notice the temperature at all.

“Do you love my brother?”

“Excuse me?” Beric blushed. He had no idea what he had expected her to start with but it certainly hadn’t been that.

“I’m asking if you love Thoros,” Melisandre was still watching him as a hawk might watch a mouse, but at least in the light from the house the color had returned to her silhouette.

Beric fidgeted uncomfortably. This seemed like a deeply personal question. Well, he did, and loving a person meant at least trying to keep peace with their family.

“I do,” Beric said simply, and even the general bizarreness of the situation couldn’t keep a smile from breaking across his face.

“Hmph,” Melisandre crossed her arms. “I think he would jump off a cliff if you asked him to.”

“I would never ask,” Beric quirked an eyebrow at her, his smile fading somewhat.

“But you’ll ask him to do other stuff. Stop smoking, study harder, clean up, follow you to college—“

“No,” Beric snapped and the surge of anger temporarily halted her in place. “I didn’t ask him to do any of those things.”

“Maybe not in so many words, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t ask,” Melisandre recovered and snapped right back. “He’s got this thing in his head that you’re too good for him, and he’ll do anything, absolutely anything, to keep you happy.”

“He knows I don’t think that,” Beric growled.

“You’d better not,” Melisandre hissed. “Because I don’t intend to come here as a show and tell project for your patronizing parents ever again.”

“What?” Beric asked, taken aback.

“I’m sorry that we’re not rich enough or from the right neighborhood or pray to the right gods, but I don’t give a shit if it makes your parents uncomfortable. Whatever you’re doing right here, trying to get your parents to feel sorry for us, I’m done after tonight.”

“I think you’re done now.” The words were out of his mouth before he could take them back and they hung in the air between them, little puffs of breath in the dark.

Melisandre turned to glare at him, but Beric drew himself up to his full six foot two height.

“I’m not trying to get my parents to feel sorry for you. I’m trying to give them the chance to know you, because they’re good people who were reliving the worst experience of their lives at that hospital. And I want them to know Thoros because he’s the most important person in my life and nothing about who he is would change that. You’re awfully quick to see the worst in people, Melisandre, maybe it’s time for you to start looking for the good.”

He took a deep breath.

“But if you can’t, I think you should probably leave.”

~~~~

As predicted, Jaime found Tyrion reading a book about dragons in his room.

“The Baratheons are here. Can you entertain Renly so he doesn’t torture the help?”

“What makes you think Renly finds me remotely entertaining? Why don’t you have your girlfriend do it?” Tyrion flipped a page.

“Because I brought her here to hang out with me not with Renly Baratheon?” Jaime folded his arms. 

“Then ask Stannis and Robert to do it, he’s their brother,” Tyrion sulked.

“Tyrion, it was a request from father. I don’t care if Renly hides all of our silver in the wine cellar again.”

“Do you think it being a request from father makes me more likely to comply?” Tyrion arched a skeptical eyebrow.

“I would think it would make you more imaginative,” Jaime answered. “If he says to stick to Renly like glue, I think the real question is what can you persuade Renly to do?”

Tyrion suddenly looked thoughtful.

“Fine, I’m coming.”

“Great, gotta go, left Brienne in the portrait gallery,” Jaime hurried out, taking the steps down two at a time.

But when he got to the portrait gallery, she was gone.

Mystified, he retraced his steps and checked the bar to see if she’d gone for a refill. No Brienne.

Shit, he shouldn’t have left her alone. Why didn’t he just take her with him to find Tyrion? She liked Tyrion!

He scanned the foyer, looking for somebody who would even have a clue who Brienne Tarth was. Bingo.

Robert Baratheon was staring at Cersei with an expression of dumb animal suffering. Jaime hated to interrupt whatever torture his sister was exacting, but Brienne came first.

“Have you seen Brienne?” He demanded. Robert looked at him vacantly, barely registering him.

“Haven’t seen Brian,” the older boy mumbled. Jaime wanted to grind his teeth in frustration. How had his sister put up with this Neanderthal?

“Brienne! Brienne Tarth,” Jaime bit out.

“Haven’t seen Tarth either,” Robert looked blank. Well, blanker than usual. He was completely focused on Cersei, who was just wrapping her conversation up with Uncle Kevan.

Brienne still came first, but Jaime decided to reward Robert’s superlatively helpful behavior.

“Say congrats on the division championship by the way, I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

He casually positioned himself to block Robert’s path to Cersei.

Robert had the grace to look uncomfortable at the comment.

“The team missed you,” he said. Doubtful. Jaime had seen plenty of photos on social media and grief for a fallen teammate was not in evidence. How did it not drive Dondarrion mad? Sometimes he thought Brienne was the only person keeping him from a full on mental breakdown. Regardless, he had bought Cersei a valuable lead. He smirked as she disappeared and Robert tried to edge around him.

“So early decision results are coming in. Any word from the Aerie?” Jaime blocked him again.

“Done deal. Not too worried,” Robert said, sidestepping him and then frowning when that failed to dislodge him.

“Of course not. A promising academic mind like yours can’t go unrecognized.” Jaime grinned, watching Robert searching the crowd. Robert sped up so Jaime matched his stride.

Robert had come to a fork in the road and was looking at it with dull bewilderment. Jaime smirked.

“I can see the genius at work now,” he narrated out loud. “The furrowed brow, the jutted chin.” Robert glared at him and took the path to the left. The correct route, not that the dumb sot could have known it. He really was born under a freakishly lucky star.

Jaime meanwhile took the right, sure that Brienne would not have wandered upstairs on her own. He passed the closed door to his father’s study—no sense looking in there, and was about to try the morning room when he looked out the window and saw her.

“Don’t tell me you’re tired of the company already?” He joked, jogging to her side. It was already almost dark, and she looked out at the sunset with a sad expression.

“You have a beautiful garden,” she turned to him with a smile.

“It’s winter wench,” Jaime rolled his eyes. “Everything is dead.”

“Not the winter roses,” Brienne checked him. “Look,” she knelt by the rose bush, carefully brushing off the snow that had coated the petals.

Jaime looked, although not at the blue roses.

“Winter roses have the shortest flowering of any rose. From the first frost to the first snowfall. I think they’re the most beautiful though, don’t you?” Brienne smiled.

Jaime crouched next to her, tracing one of the buds. He broke it off just below the stem, and then tucked it into her hair.

“The most beautiful,” he said gently.

Her eyes, even bluer with the rose to set them off, unexpectedly filled with tears.

“What’s wrong?” Jaime said in surprise. “Are you cold? I’m sorry, I should have offered my jacket sooner.” He shrugged it off and laid it awkwardly on her shoulders when she made no move to help him.

“Jaime, I want you to know that the last month has been the happiest I’ve ever been,” Brienne said, the tears stubbornly refusing to fall.

Jaime had a sinking feeling, which he fought off.

“You know I feel the same,” he pulled her upright urgently. “So what’s this last month nonsense? We have a million months to be the happiest we’ve ever been.”

“I spoke to your father,” Brienne said softly. The sinking feeling was back. Shit. What did he say? What irreparable damage had that hateful old man wrought?

“He offered me a full college tuition to break up with you,” Brienne twisted the sleeves of Jaime’s jacket in her hands.

“Oh,” Jaime swallowed. He looked at the ground, so he would not have to see the tears in her eyes. “A full college tuition is really cool wench. I’m... I’m happy for you.”

“What?” Her voice arced in surprise. Jaime supposed she had expected him to take it worse. But how could he blame her for being sensible, for thinking of her future. What kind of future could a mediocre student with one good hand and a family of psychopaths offer her?

“Yeah, I mean, I get it. I’m impressed you got that much out of my father, honestly,” Jaime swallowed again, continued to stare at their feet. “He hates giving people money, it does something to his digestive tract.”

“Jaime, I said no.”

“Gives him the runs. Although that might be his diet which is frankly low in fiber. The tears of orphans aren’t what they used to be—wait what?”

His head shot up. Brienne was looking at him with an incredulous watery stare.

“I said no,” Brienne repeated. “First, it’s completely unethical. Second, I wouldn’t trade what I have with you for the world.”

Jaime opened his mouth and then shut it, a little gobsmacked.

“Then... why did you give me the breakup speech?” He finally got out.

“Because I don’t think we have your father’s approval to date,” Brienne bit her lip. “I know how complicated your relationship is with him and I would hate to do anything that—“

Jaime vaguely remembered a time when he had asked Cersei if father’s disapproval bothered her and she had laughed in his face. It was rather jarring to realize that for once his sister had been right.

“Brienne, you wonderfully weird idiot,” Jaime grabbed her shoulders to get her to stop talking. “You turned down a four year scholarship with every expectation that I would dump you anyway?”

Brienne nodded sheepishly.

Jaime put his hand on her cheek and kissed her, the cold of her cheek contrasting with the heat of her lips. The smell of the rose petals mixed with the sensation of her eyelashes brushing his cheek and the tart taste of champagne on her tongue all blending together as the world spun around them.

“What a pity,” Jaime sighed when he finally broke the kiss. “With a little more coordination we could have extorted him for a cash payment upfront and fled the country.”


	64. Melisandre (A Winter's Tale 9 of 9)

Melisandre waited a minute after Beric had gone in before calling Stannis.

“Of course,” he said when she asked him to pick her up, and she slowly let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding.

She was feeling a little... uncertain. She was right. She knew she was right. About Beric being annoyingly secretive about their relationship. About Thoros being weirdly insecure for someone dating the human equivalent of a golden retriever. About Beric’s parents treating them like the children on a UNICEF box. 

But it was possible that those facts didn’t mean that Beric was dating Thoros as some kind of fucked up slum tourism like Kinvara had dated her. 

However, just because she might be wrong didn’t mean she was about to back down.

She walked back inside and into the dining room as if she were utterly untroubled.

“Everything all right dear?” Mrs. Dondarrion smiled.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to duck out early,” Melisandre said, not managing to sound very apologetic.

“What?” Thoros asked, starting to get up. She pushed him back down.

“Stannis called, he’s having a minor freak out. I’m going to go talk to him.”

“Yeah?” Thoros frowned, still looking like he might insist on accompanying her. He worried far too much about her.

“I’m fine,” she squeezed his shoulder.

“Thank you so much for dinner, Mr. and Mrs. Dondarrion,” Melisandre added just in case they were actually nice people.

“Of course! But you’ll miss dessert—let me make you a doggie bag,” Mrs. Dondarrion insisted, and Melisandre followed her into the kitchen where Beric’s mother proceeded to load her down with half a pie and assorted leftovers.

The good news was that by the time she managed to extricate herself from the kitchen, she could hear a car in the driveway.

“Oh that’s him, thanks again,” Melisandre said to Beric’s parents. “You stay,” she said sternly to Thoros, who looked like he was on the verge of getting up again. That left Beric. He was looking a little pale, but met her gaze resolutely.

“See you Beric,” she said, a little tepidly. His shoulders dropped slightly. Was he... disappointed?

“Happy New Year, Melisandre,” Beric responded quietly.

Melisandre hurried out to the driveway, so she wouldn’t have to look at the hurt in his good eye. 

Stannis was leaning against a large white Range Rover.

Melisandre hugged him.

“Act upset, I told them you were having a melt down,” she whispered in his ear.

Stannis pulled away from her.

“What?!” He sputtered. Melisandre tilted her head.

“Eh, close enough,” she got into the passenger seat. “Isn’t this Jaime Lannister’s car?”

“I think technically Jaime and Cersei share it,” Stannis answered carefully as he reversed out of the driveway.

“Okay,” Melisandre said slowly. “Jaime and Cersei don’t mind you borrowing it?”

“I didn’t ask,” Stannis admitted. “They were to varying degrees indisposed.”

“I think I’m a good influence on you,” Melisandre said, as she leaned against his shoulder. Stannis cleared his throat and cautiously put his arm around her. 

“Where do you want to go?” He asked.

Melisandre lifted her head slightly to confirm that the car was an automatic.

“Let’s go to the lookout point over Shipbreaker’s Bay,” she said. 

Stannis looked down at her with a slight smile.

“We’ve missed sunset I’m afraid.”

Melisandre turned her face up to his, admired how it looked illuminated by passing cars, his stern features softened in the moving bars of light.

“But we haven’t missed the fireworks,” she replied in a sing-song voice.

Stannis laughed a little at her retort. 

“No we haven’t.” He turned the wheel to take the on ramp to the highway, didn’t seem dismayed to be leaving the city far behind them.

Melisandre thought she could live forever in this moment, his arm around her shoulders, just the two of them hurtling through the darkness toward adventures unknown.

“Do you want to talk about why you had to leave?” Stannis asked tentatively. 

“No,” Melisandre answered. There was a long pause.

“You know that girl Kinvara? The one everyone says I stalked?”

Stannis nodded slightly in the affirmative.

“I didn’t stalk her. We were dating. I was in love with her. We’d been friends all freshman year, and then last summer it became something more.”

Melisandre looked at the cars passing, remote in their anonymity. Each one with their own stories, their own heartbreak.

“Thoros never liked her. Said she was a poser, that she just hung out with me to feel cool and edgy. I didn’t see it. She liked hanging out in High Hill and Flea Bottom a lot, liked to shoplift and smoke and drink, but plenty of people like to do those things. And I was crazy about her. I thought she saw me for who I was. Once we started up, she always wanted to keep it a secret though. Maybe that should’ve been the sign. And then I dunno, I guess she got bored of me. Scared someone would figure it out. One day we were dating and the next it was like I didn’t exist. Worse, it was like I was her enemy.”

Stannis didn’t say anything, but the hand on the steering wheel had curled tightly, knuckles white.

“It’s fine, I’m over it. But I think it fucked with my head a little bit. I just got worried that Beric was doing the same thing to Thoros. Um, as a friend I mean. And I kind of called him out on it. And he said I needed to decide whether I was going to look for the good in people or the bad. And if I was going to look for the bad in people, I should leave.”

Stannis had relaxed slightly and gave a noncommittal grunt.

“I think maybe I was wrong,” Melisandre admitted. “But it’s annoying and complicated and I didn’t want to deal with it. When I met you,” she swallowed. “When I met you I didn’t have to decide whether I was going to look for the good or the bad and weigh context and try to discern motivations. You were just you and you were good. It was so easy.”

“I liked that about you too,” Stannis smiled. “You always said exactly what you meant.”

“People suck,” Melisandre announced. “Have you ever considered the fact that the whole world sucks except for us?”

“I’m surprised you’re just figuring that out,” Stannis said drily.

Their car hit the dirt road to the lookout point, and for a while there was silence as they jolted across potholes.

Finally they came to the end and Stannis parked. Nobody was here but them, and the sky was a starry black, an empty canvas waiting for the first explosions of light. 

Melisandre shrugged out of Thoros’ hoodie and heard Stannis’ sharp intake of breath. She started to get out of the car, then paused, looking back at him over her shoulder.

“Do you like my dress?” She asked coyly. His round eyes were all the response she needed. 

She walked up to the hood of the car and lifted herself on top, scooching backwards until her back was against the windshield and she had a fully reclining view of the stage. She leaned back and closed her eyes.

She heard the driver’s side door open. Felt the tremor as Stannis lifted himself onto the hood as well. He crawled over to her and cuddled next to her, one arm wrapped around her waist, his nose in her hair. His breath tickled down her neck, sending a little flare of warmth far lower than that.

She opened her eyes again to meet his frosty blue ones and smiled at him.

“You’re not cold?” He asked, his voice deep, perpetually serious.

“A little bit,” Melisandre fibbed. She was never cold. “Care to warm me up?”

His eyes were blue-black in the darkness, shining with pent-up want. He kissed her cheek, then her lips, bracing most of his weight awkwardly on his side to avoid crushing her. She wanted to roll her eyes, but instead leaned into the kiss, felt his slight exhale of surprise as she deepened it. She ran her hand through his hair, gently pulled him on top of her. He always thought she was so fragile.

Her other hand found his, and his fingers laced with hers immediately, squeezing her hand tightly. He broke their kiss and had moved to her neck, kissing downwards, even as she brought his hand up her leg, past the short-short hem of her dress.

His eyes widened when those fingers grazed past the softness of her thighs only to encounter the curls of pubic hair.

“Melisandre,” Stannis swallowed hard. “Where exactly are your panties?”

She gave him her most sinful smirk.

“You—you were at Beric’s house and you weren’t wearing anything under that?” Stannis glared at her disbelievingly, but his fingers continued their exploration and Melisandre gasped as two found their way inside her.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Stannis tsked sternly, even as his fingers curled and Melisandre’s hips rocked at the sensation.

“I… don’t think Beric was looking at me,” she managed, trying to grind herself further onto him. It was his turn to smirk as he picked up the pace and a tiny breathless moan escaped her lips. 

“I find that hard to believe,” Stannis raised an eyebrow, before continuing to press his lips down past her collarbone. He used his free hand to pull the fabric of her dress off her right shoulder, exposing her breast to the night air. Cold or not, Melisandre’s nipple was hard and she gasped again as his lips found it for a gentle kiss. 

“Stannis,” she managed.

“Mmm?” He hummed, his tongue flicking against her, even as his thumb found the sensitive nub above her slit and pressed down.

“Stannis!” She reached between his legs and gave a teasing squeeze. That got his attention.

“I don’t want your fingers, I want you,” she purred. He blinked uncertainly.

“Please?” She pouted playfully, even as she slowly undid his belt buckle.

“Melisandre, are you sure?” He bit his lip. He looked so nervous, so hesitant. Lord of Light, she loved this man.

“So very sure,” she breathed, as her hand closed around him and gave his already-hard length a stroke. A tremor rocked through his body.

“I don’t… want to hurt you,” he managed, as her hand repeated the motion.

“I don’t think you could,” she touched his face gently. “Not like this anyway,” she guided him to her entrance, sighed as she felt him against her.

Stannis pushed in, and the sensation nearly undid her right there. 

“Are you okay?” He asked quickly.

“Better than okay,” she rocked against him, trying to scratch that itch his fingers had found so easily. He kissed her again and then started to move, and in that moment everything else faded away, even as the sky erupted in a crackle of color and light.

After, he wrapped his jacket around them both and they lay there and watched the fireworks above them.

“Was it special?” Melisandre asked shyly.

“It was perfect,” Stannis blushed. “Was it special for you?”

“Very,” Melisandre assured him, snuggling closer so she could hear his heartbeat. For a long time nobody moved. But something was gnawing on the back of her brain. What was it?

With a sigh she raised her head. 

“I’ll be right back,” she kissed Stannis lightly. She crawled back inside the Range Rover and found her phone. Pulled up the list of contacts. Carefully closed the door.

“Hello?” Beric sounded out of it and confused. Maybe he had been asleep.

“Hi it’s Melisandre,” she said.

“Um h-h-i Melisandre,” his breath caught on the second word. “This isn’t… isn’t really a good time,” he managed to spit out. Not sleeping.

“It won’t take long. I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re with my brother, you make him really happy.”

“S-t-top it—sorry Melisandre, that means a lot.”

“And if he screws this up, I’ll kick his ass. Pass that along.”

“I w-will—“ Beric nearly whimpered the last word and Melisandre mentally face palmed.

“And tell him I know what he’s doing and he’s being gross.”


	65. Stannis (V Day 1 of 9)

Stannis eyed his troops sternly. After hours of battle, morale was low. Melisandre looked bored, Davos was openly shivering, and Renly kept wiping his drippy nose with the back of his hand, spreading mucus everywhere. This would not do.

“Men,” he began. Melisandre coughed. “Soldiers,” he amended. “We have faced the enemy countless times today. Repelled charge after charge. And now it is time to ask ourselves, what is it all for? Do we turn back now and let all our sacrifices be for naught? Or do we put everything into one last gamble, a full out assault on that monstrosity they call a fort, where we know they’ve hidden their flag because let’s face it, they’re too lazy to come up with a better hiding place?”

“All four of us?” Davos said doubtfully. “It’ll leave our fort totally undefended.”

Stannis gave a humorless smile.

“But our flag’s not in our fort.”

He had been hoping for some kind of ragged cheer, but instead it was more of a group sigh, and then they huddled around him as he drew the attack plan in the snow with a stick.

Behind the wall of snow, they could hear Robert prowling, taunting them in an attempt to provoke an attack.

“Is that chicken I smell back there? Four juicy fat chickens? Bawk bawk—“ 

Renly had scrambled to the top of their battlement and buzzed a snowball at him. Sadly the respite was temporary.

“You throw like a girl Renly! What was that?! Now I’m going to show you how to throw just once, so take notes—hah!”

There was a thud as the snowball hit the wall.

“I think he put a rock in that one!” Renly whined. “He’s cheating Stannis, make him stop!”

“Just keep him busy,” Stannis growled. “Davos, Melisandre, we’re slipping out the back and skirting through the trees before we scout out the feint attack.”

They nodded grimly, following him as he crawled through the escape tunnel to pop out in the tree line.

Their fort was three concentric circle staggered walls interspersed with trenches. They had carefully applied a layer of creek water to each of the walls, giving them a patina of ice for protection. There was a main entryway and an escape tunnel. Robert’s team’s fort was a giant haphazard pile of snow, tilting precariously backwards, and built against the eaves of the house so that they would only have to build on one side. 

Frankly, Stannis’ team should have won ages ago and the lack of strategy on their opponents’ part made him want to grind his teeth. The only reason they were still in this game was that they had used the time they should have been building a fort to create a laughably large arsenal of snowballs instead. That Robert, Thoros and Beric were all seniors and far more adept at throwing projectiles than Renly or Melisandre was unfortunate. Cersei was also nominally on their team, but Stannis hadn’t seen her in ages and assumed she had gone inside at some point.

They had managed to repel every attack Stannis’ team had tried to mount, and launched a few of their own. Robert naturally played nothing but offense. As far as Stannis could tell, he wasn’t even trying to find their flag (they had used Melisandre’s red scarf—you could use any article of clothing so long as it was obviously intended to be the flag). Not that he would. Knowing the well-defended castle would be obvious bait, Stannis had sent Renly scurrying in the opposite direction to climb the tallest tree he could find and wind the scarf around a branch skinny enough that it could only support Renly’s weight.

That left Beric and Thoros guarding the fort. They weren’t even inside the terrifying death trap (perhaps a wise decision). They were sitting lazily against the wall of the house, talking and making more snowballs.

“Okay, as we discussed,” Stannis whispered, his gaze focused on the two lackadaisical seniors. “You have to draw them far from the fort before you launch the ambush. Robert might fall back to help, so be prepared to retreat. You have to make it seem like a no-brainer win—Beric won’t leave the fort unguarded for anything less. But don’t be too obvious…”

“Stannis, we got it,” Davos interjected, rubbing his mittened hands together. “Now let’s start moving again before I freeze.”

Stannis clicked his tongue. Insubordinate, that’s what it was, to interrupt your commanding officer like that. But before he could come up with a properly blistering retort, Melisandre and Davos had set off.

The path they chose skirted the field of vision of Robert’s fort. From that angle, Melisandre and Davos couldn’t see the fort above them, but Beric and Thoros could see the tops of their heads moving below. Stannis saw Thoros nudging Beric and pointing. Beric looked undecided.

Thoros was already gathering up an armload of snowballs, and falling in behind and above Melisandre and Davos’ path. Stannis hoped they would get far enough away from the fort—fortunately, Thoros appeared to be waiting on Beric to join him before he launched an attack.

Beric was clearly torn, looking back repeatedly at their leaning tower of crud. 

“I still think we should have brought some snowballs with us,” Davos said, his voice loud and distinct, carrying well over the crisp snow.

“Shush! We can make some once we get to the beach. Stannis thinks they might have tried to bury the flag in the sand,” Melisandre replied, equally audibly.

Thoros shot Beric a plaintive look, but it was unnecessary. Beric was hurrying to pick up as many snowballs as he could.

Melisandre and Davos had already disappeared from sight, but Stannis waited until Beric had caught up with Thoros and the two were almost gone as well before he slid down the embankment heading toward their unmanned fort.

They didn’t even have an entrance proper. It was just one poorly made barrier wall against the L-shaped corner of the house—the entrance was simply the side where nobody had bothered to build anything. Stannis walked in, a snowball dangling from one hand as a completely unnecessary precaution.

Inside, the fortress appeared to be even more terrifyingly constructed. It was very clear that a hard gust of wind would bring the entire thing down on his head. Some plywood had been stuck at the base, in a futile attempt to provide more support for the structure. 

But there in the center, dangling off a stick, were Robert’s briefs. 

Stannis gave a long-suffering groan.

“He’s such a child,” a voice behind him agreed. Stannis nearly had a heart attack and spun, already lifting his arm to throw a snowball.

Cersei Lannister, in matching ear muffs and ski pants, was curled on top of a heating vent, not even wearing her gloves. Instead, she had a fashion magazine in her lap. She licked a finger and turned the page. Stannis glanced back at the briefs.

“I wouldn’t,” Cersei warned amiably. Stannis narrowed his eyes.

“You don’t have any snowballs. You’re not even properly dressed to make more. From where I stand, I have all the leverage,” he said haughtily. “Don’t think just because you’re a girl, I’ll let you win.”

Cersei smiled, a slow Cheshire Cat of a smile. 

“And don’t think that if I lose, I won’t bring you down with me.”

Stannis spent a second trying to figure out what that meant before remembering that it was Cersei and he didn’t care. He deliberately strolled over to the briefs, to show she hadn’t rattled him. He glanced back over at her. She hadn’t moved. Then, with an expression of extreme distaste, he carefully lifted the briefs, pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

Cersei’s foot shot out, giving the plywood at the base of the wall a firm kick. It dislodged. Stannis looked up.

“FUC—” The entire wall toppled over, crushing him in an avalanche of ice and snow.

A few minutes of frantically tunneling and clawing his way upwards later, Stannis’ head emerged from the wreckage with a pop. He gave it a little shake to dislodge some of the snow. Some feet away, Cersei’s blond head also emerged with a pop.

“Was that REALLY necessary?” Stannis asked through gritted teeth.

The sound of the fort collapsing had brought the others running. 

“Did we win?” Renly asked hopefully. Stannis sighed and raised his right arm. There, clutched in his fist, were the briefs.

“Hurray!” Renly cheered.

“Seriously?” Melisandre wrinkled her nose.

“Can we go inside now?” Davos groaned.

“Seconded,” Thoros said, teeth chattering.

Robert was helping Cersei extract herself, but looked over his shoulder.

“Amateurs. Why would we go inside when we have a hot tub?”

“Ooooooh,” Renly clearly adored the idea.

“Um, let me run back to my house and get some swim trunks. Do you need a pair Thoros?” Beric asked.

“Please,” Thoros gave him a grin.

“I guess that just leaves the girls,” Robert tried to conceal a smug smile. “I’m sure nobody will mind if you want to go commando—”

“I brought my bikini,” Cersei cut him off. Robert turned to Melisandre. “And an extra.” His face fell.

“Spoilsport,” Robert sulked. Stannis was relieved that he didn’t have to hit his brother in front of company.

“Thanks,” Melisandre shot Cersei a grateful look.

“He’s too predictable for words,” Cersei shook her head disdainfully.

“Shall we make some hot chocolate and Bailey’s while we wait for Beric?” Thoros asked.

“Yes!” Davos agreed enthusiastically. The two left for the kitchen.

“I might invite Jaime, if that’s okay?” Cersei looked at Robert questioningly who shrugged. 

“He’s over at Brienne’s,” Renly said dourly. “I already texted Brienne. She says they’re on their way.” He pulled a face. 

“Blech,” Cersei seemed to feel similarly. “They’re unbearable together.”

“Nobody is THAT happy,” Renly scowled. Then he pitched his voice into a falsetto—”Oh Jaime, you’re so smart and funny.”

“Brienne, you’re so big and tall,” Cersei answered, lowering her voice in an absurdly poor impression of her brother.

“Let’s cuddle and talk about how perfect we are,” Renly jumped into Cersei’s arms, who caught him and then staggered backwards before collapsing in the snow.

“Stop making moves on my girlfriend,” Robert hoisted Renly off lazily. “Besides, if anyone’s the perfect couple, it’s obviously me and Cers.”

Renly pulled a doubtful face. Melisandre shot Stannis a wink suggesting that she thought they were the best, and Stannis blushed. 

“I’m going to nip this argument in the bud and request my bikini,” Melisandre drawled. The girls left for the front of the house, leaving the Baratheon brothers.

“Who’s getting the cover off the jacuzzi?” Stannis asked.

“NOT IT!” Robert and Renly shouted in unison. Stannis sighed.

By the time he’d swept a path to the jacuzzi, pushed the snow off the cover, pulled the cover off, set the temperature up several degrees and then gone upstairs to change into his swimsuit and come back down, everyone else was situated in the hot tub, including Jaime and Brienne. Most had steaming mugs of cocoa in their hands. 

Stannis bit his tongue to avoid warning people about the dangers of spilling. 

“I made you one without Bailey’s,” Melisandre smiled at him and handed him a mug.

“So Stannis has a virgin?” Robert leered.

“Doubtful,” Davos coughed. Thoros casually grabbed the back of his head and forced him under water. After a second or two, Davos popped back up again sputtering.

Brienne was blushing, and Jaime wrapped his arm around her. Cersei saw the gesture and her upper lip curled slightly. 

“What’s everybody doing for Val’s Day?” Beric asked brightly, before the mood could sour.

“First, the idea that we celebrate the conversion of a wildling princess to the Seven is absurd. It’s fucking colonization at its most depressing. Second, I object to the gross commercialization of romance by Westerosi companies trying to make a buck. We shouldn’t need candy hearts or cards or a bunch of money to show we care about someone,” Melisandre scoffed.

Stannis, who had already made reservations at a fondue restaurant and scheduled the delivery of six dozen roses, slid deeper into the water.

“I’m taking Marya ice skating,” Davos jumped in, turning a little pink at the name of his rather new girlfriend.

“The wench and I are going for a sleigh ride north of town and then we have box seats to the Swan Lake ballet,” Jaime announced. 

“Oh Jaime! You told me we were going to stay in and watch the Notebook!” Brienne kissed him.

“I wanted to surprise you,” Jaime said with a little grin. Stannis was going to have to take Renly and Cersei’s side on this one. They were sickening.

“I’m with Melisandre,” Robert squirmed uncomfortably. “Why does everyone make such a big deal out of Val’s Day?”

“You haven’t gotten me anything, have you?” Cersei sighed. Robert winced.

“Lucky for you, I already know what I want,” Cersei stretched. Robert’s eyes followed lustfully.

“Which is…” he prompted.

“I want Jaime to win junior class prom king in the upcoming elections,” Cersei said promptly. Robert’s face fell.

“What? I can’t… I mean, wouldn’t you rather have some nice jewelry?”

“I think you can,” Cersei grinned, entwining her arms around his neck. “You’re the student body lord paramount. You collect the votes.”

“But—” Robert looked flustered. Stannis felt an uncharacteristic twinge of pity for him. Complicated schemes were not Robert’s strong point.

“As flattered as I am that you would use your Val’s Day present on me and as entertained as I would be by Robert’s attempts to worm out of this, I respectfully decline,” Jaime rolled his eyes. “I’m going to prom with Brienne. If I have to go as part of the royal court, I can’t bring a date.”

The royal court, in Stannis’ view was an asinine tradition that only people like Selyse Florent cared about. Each class elected a king and queen. The royal court spent the next couple months prancing around at various school activities. Then, at prom itself, there was a general election where the students voted an ultimate prom king and queen from the eight candidates. Although each class’ king and queen were nominally dates, the school provided a limo for the eight chosen students to ride in together.

“Unless Brienne won freshman queen,” Melisandre pointed out, suddenly intrigued. Stannis noticed the glow of interest in her eyes. Not a good sign. “Why mess with the vote count for just one person? Think, we could elect anyone we wanted! Or unelect…”

“We absolutely cannot tamper with the ballots,” Brienne said firmly. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a silly popularity contest, some people really care about these things. And I wouldn’t want to get stuck with a freshman king who makes fun of me to his friends anyway.”

“If we don’t do something, Euron Greyjoy is going to win junior king. You are making me go to prom with Euron Greyjoy,” Cersei crossed her arms. More than half the group winced.

“Brienne’s right of course. It would be completely unethical to tamper with the votes.” Jaime admitted. Brienne, Beric and Stannis all gave a sigh of relief.

“Brienne, would you get me a refill of hot cocoa?” Jaime gave her puppy dog eyes.

“Of course,” Brienne smiled at him. She took his mug and clambered out of the hot tub, disappearing around the bend.

“Right,” Jaime cleared his throat. “If we were going to tamper with the ballots, how would we do it?”


	66. Thoros (V Day 2 of 9)

“Hey batter, batter,” Thoros shouted cheerfully as he rattled the chain link fence beyond which Jorah had just swung and whiffed spectacularly.

“Oh hey Thoros!” Jorah chirped.

“What’s up?” Thoros asked, leaning against the fence and drinking directly from the pitcher of beer he had purchased.

He felt bad that he had been neglecting the freshman, but after the Greyjoy Rebellion, his father had grounded him for the rest of the calendar year. And then with winter holiday and starting up classes again, February had crept up on him.

Jorah Mormont was not the complaining type however.

“I’m good! Tryouts are in March, so I’ve really got to buckle down and nail this swing—oof!” Jorah took another crack at a ball and in addition to missing, spun in a complete circle.

“Is that supposed to happen?” Thoros asked. Baseball was another one of those weird Westerosi sports he’d never paid much attention to.

“Not usually,” Jorah admitted. “Actually I’m glad you came by! I’ve been meaning to get your advice on something!”

Another swing, another miss.

“Fine, but I must insist that you turn off this absurd machine. You’re making me dizzy,” Thoros paused the batting machine.

Jorah acquiesced with a shrug and then let himself out of the cage. They made themselves comfortable at one of the many picnic tables that the indoor sports complex offered.

With a cheeky grin, Jorah helped himself to a long slurp from the pitcher.

“Don’t tell your dad,” Thoros warned. “I don’t want to end up on the King’s Landing’s Most Wanted list.”

“And get myself grounded again?!” Jorah shuddered.

“So what do you need my brilliant insights for?” Thoros tried to look very wise. He wished his hair were long again, because it really did make him look older. It was growing back, but at a snail’s pace.

“Do you have to take a leak first? You have a funny look on your face,” Jorah said suspiciously.

“Never mind,” Thoros slouched into his usual posture. He missed having long hair.

“Okay,” Jorah leaned forward in anticipation, casting a furtive look around to make sure they weren’t overheard. Thoros felt like he was about to hear a confessional. Maybe there was something to this priest business.

“I’m in love!” Jorah announced proudly.

Thoros blinked.

“Oh. Congrats bud. Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Lynesse,” Jorah breathed the word like it was an incantation. “Lynesse Hightower.”

“Right,” Thoros scratched his nose. “Which one is that again?”

Jorah shot him a look of long-suffering exasperation.

“Her,” he pulled out his phone and showed Thoros a social media profile. Bookmarked, Thoros noticed.

A blond girl with doll-like curls and wide china blue eyes smiled back at him.

“This is the best one,” Jorah said with some authority, pulling up a swimsuit pic.

“Erm very nice,” Thoros passed the phone back.

“So what do I do?”

“Do?” Thoros asked, puzzled. He hoped this wasn’t a birds and bees type situation. Maybe he could just get Jorah some porn.

“To get her to notice me,” Jorah continued impatiently.

“She hasn’t noticed you?” Thoros took a gulp of beer to avoid laughing.

“Well I haven’t actually spoken to her yet,” Jorah confided sheepishly.

Thoros swallowed the wrong way and hacked violently as he got a lung full of liquid.

“She’s a sophomore you know. It’s not like there’s a lot of opportunities to walk up to a sophomore and say ‘hello, I think you’re gorgeous, can I take you out for Val’s Day?’” Jorah explained.

“I supposed not,” Thoros agreed.

“That’s why I need your advice. You know girls,” Jorah explained earnestly.

Thoros wanted to take another gulp of beer, but wasn’t sure his ribs could handle a second coughing fit.

“I do?” He asked weakly.

“You’ve been with loads of girls,” Jorah said.

“I’m not sure you’d say I was dating them,” Thoros shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Saying that to Jorah felt wrong. Like he was telling a child that the tooth fairy didn’t exist.

“I would settle for casual sex,” Jorah assured him with calm frankness. Guess Jorah had figured out about the tooth fairy for himself.

“I don’t think the girls I was hooking up with were much like your Lynesse Hightower.”

“You must’ve dated someone,” Jorah groaned.

“Very different,” Thoros coughed.

“Well how did you ask her out?”

“We were friends first. Best friends. And then we got really drunk, and things progressed from there,” Thoros gave him the highlights.

“I dunno about the friends part, and I can’t get her drunk if she doesn’t know who I am!” Jorah sighed despondently. “I guess I could follow her around until she gets drunk on her own?”

“Eh,” Thoros screwed up his face. “I don’t like the sound of that one. No, I think the friends idea is good. You need to spend some time hanging out with her, letting her get to know you.”

“How do I do that?!” Jorah demanded. “We don’t have any classes together, we don’t have any mutual friends, she’s not from the North, she’s from Westerlands. It’s hopeless.” He buried his head in his arms.

“What about clubs? If she writes for the newspaper, you could join the newspaper, that sort of thing?”

“She doesn’t do anything,” Jorah moped. “All she cares about is getting people to vote for her for that stupid royal court.”

Thoros perked up.

“Really?!” He said with some enthusiasm.

“That doesn’t help, it’s not like I’m going to be on the royal court,” Jorah frowned. Thoros grinned.

“You know what you need, Jorah?”

“What?” The skinny freshman looked owlishly confused.

“Faith,” Thoros patted him on the head. Maybe he was a better priest than he gave himself credit for.

He found Jaime conducting interviews in a conference room in the library.

“What would you say your ideal woman is like?” Jaime grilled a quaking Howland Reed.

“Adventurous, stands up for herself, a loyal friend?”

Jaime nodded approvingly, clicked his pen and scribbled a few notes.

“What else?” He snapped.

“Protects people, isn’t bad in a fight, brunette—“

Jaime who had furiously been making notes, suddenly slammed his book shut.

“Brunette?” He asked quietly, but with audible malice. Howland gulped.

“Get. Out.” Jaime hissed, gesturing to the door. “NEXT!”

“Hey, Lannister,” Thoros began, keeping a firm grip on Jorah’s shoulder. Jorah had struggled for the door as if the comment had been directed at him.

“Hey, Asshai,” Jaime mimicked the greeting sarcastically. “Fuck off, I’m doing research.”

Thoros reminded himself that he was doing this for Jorah not for Jaime.

“Yeah, how’s that going?” He snorted, snatching the notebook before Jaime could grab it away.

He flipped through the pages.

“One name? You’ve been doing this for the last week and you only have one name?”

“Men are animals at fourteen. Complete savages,” Jaime sniffed as if he were a paragon of virtue.

“Mmm,” Thoros pretended to adjust spectacles. “Who is our lucky bachelor? Hyle Hunt? Burn me, I thought you liked this girl Lannister.”

“Hyle is perfectly adequate,” Jaime replied, somewhat defensively. “A little bland, a little slow, but the point isn’t for her to fall in love with him. And he’d love being freshman king. He’s desperate to be more popular.”

“I have someone better,” Thoros said, shaking Jorah slightly. Jorah was looking very pale and had gone very quiet. Pale, blond and quiet, he was a perfect match for Brienne.

“Mormont?” Jaime sneered. “He’s a toothpick.”

“Howland Reed is half her height.”

“Fine, I’ll ask him the questions,” Jaime grunted. “But he has to wait in line with all the others.”

“What others?” Thoros asked innocently.

“The other boys in the hallway. I told them all I would pay them twenty bucks to complete my survey.”

“Oh yeah, I sent them home,” Thoros waved a hand. “Don’t worry, I assured them they could all collect their money from you at school tomorrow.”

Jaime growled. Then he turned on Jorah with a scowl.

“You, sit.”

Jorah sat.

“Describe your ideal woman. Looks.”

“White blonde hair. Blue eyes.”

“Describe your ideal woman. Personality.”

“Brave, fierce, strong-willed, kind. Someone I’d be happy to follow into battle,” Jorah grinned sheepishly. “A romantic, like me. But also innocent, and vulnerable. Someone of great moral conviction, who’s smart and—“

Jaime made a gagging noise.

“Enough. If you were Freshman King, what would be the best part?”

Jorah glanced nervously at Thoros who nodded encouragingly.

“I’d get to talk to Lynesse Hightower. Everyone says she’s going to win Sophomore Queen.”

Jaime made a loud buzzer sound.

“So sorry, you were doing really well,” he said, not sounding sorry at all.

“Hang on, why does that disqualify him?”

“I don’t want a Freshman King who’s going to ignore his Queen to hit on other members of the royal court!”

“Isn’t that what you’ll be doing?” Thoros asked pointedly.

“That’s different!”

“Not really. You’re not trying to set her up, you’re just trying to find someone nice. Jorah is nice. The nicest. And he’ll never lay a hand on her.”

Jaime waffled.

“Jorah, what’s your ideal relationship?” Thoros asked.

“Um... we’d be friends first,” Jorah began, parroting back what Thoros had said earlier. “Best friends.” Thoros gave a thumbs up.

“Friends for ages and ages! Years! And then one day she would wake up and realize I was the love of her life and marry me,” Jorah finished in a burst of energy. Both Jaime and Thoros stared.

“He has potential,” Jaime conceded. “Congratulations, Mormont. You’re a finalist.”

That afternoon at the apartment, Beric was less impressed with Thoros’ triumph.

“I don’t understand why we need to be involved at all,” he sighed, looping his arms around Thoros and pulling him backwards on the bed.

“It’ll be fun!” Thoros protested, craning his neck so he could look up at Beric.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with us,” Beric pouted. “What if we get caught? I’ve never had a detention in my life. This is the kind of thing that could go on our permanent record.”

“We won’t get caught. I never get caught,” Thoros promised solemnly.

“You get caught all the time,” Beric rolled his eye. “Barristan Selmy practically has a chair in his office for you.”

“That’s Selmy! He’s like a decorated war hero. We’re just trying to outsmart the student body government here, not a national intelligence organization.”

“Why do we even care?” Beric pressed. “I get why Robert and Cersei and Jaime and Brienne care, but I fail to see how they’ve roped in the rest of us.”

“Melisandre wants to make sure Kinvara doesn’t get Sophomore Queen I suspect,” Thoros cuddled into Beric and started moving his hand south from Beric’s chest. Beric quickly caught it and pulled it away.

“Why are you and I helping?” Beric frowned at him. Thoros tried to get his hand back but it was trapped in Beric’s grip.

“Don’t you want to see Mormont get his girl?”

“I’m not risking my spotless record for Jorah Mormont,” Beric scowled. Something about the expression jogged something.

“Are you jealous?” Thoros felt a smile creeping over his face.

“No! Of Mormont?! Psh,” Beric tried to scoff.

“You are!” Thoros crowed. “This is about that stupid Greyjoy Rebellion thing when I asked him to drive me and not you.”

“It is not,” Beric huffed.

“You were fine with the plan yesterday, before Mormont came into it,” Thoros said slyly.

“I was not!”

“No need to get so defensive, I’m very relieved. Now we’ve each had one absurd freakout.”

“You were way more freaked about Jon Connington than I’ve ever been about Jorah Mormont,” Beric sulked.

“Maybe because you actually dated him instead of it being a product of your paranoid imagination.”

“…shut up.”

“Make me,” Thoros grinned. So Beric did.


	67. Jaime (V Day 3 of 9)

“What were you doing over there all day?” Jaime asked curiously as he drove himself and his sister home. 

Cersei shrugged. 

“You’ve been there since noon, you must have been doing something,” Jaime pressed. 

Cersei arched an eyebrow. Jaime scowled. 

“Not even Robert wants to have sex for six hours Cersei!” 

“Just because you’re not getting any with your Lolita,” Cersei smirked. “If you must know, I helped him pick out his first semester classes at the Aerie. Then we had lunch and there was a snowball fight.” 

“A snowball fight? You participated in a snowball fight?” Jaime asked incredulously. 

“I supervised,” Cersei inspected her fingernails. 

Jaime gave a small laugh. 

“Look at you, making friends.” 

“They’re Robert’s friends. Or family. Or friends of family,” Cersei said airily. 

“And now they’re all jumping to help you rig the royal court.” 

“That benefits you more than me,” Cersei rolled her eyes. 

“How do you know I wouldn’t have won on my own,” Jaime frowned. “Euron Greyjoy?!” 

“I’ve counted the votes. Your popularity with our female classmates mysteriously plummeted around the time you picked up your freshman gal pal. That mess with father didn’t help matters. Euron is the only other member of a first family in our class. A vote for him is a vote against you. And you’ve got a lot of people against you.” 

Jaime huffed. He had never tried to go out of his way to make friends. Why should he? Most of those suck ups and hangers on counted themselves lucky to breathe the same oxygen as him. He preferred people with a spine, people who thought for themselves. People like Brienne. 

“Stop smiling like that,” Cersei groaned. “You always smile like that when you think about her. It’s nauseating.” 

“It’s better than the scowl you have when you think of Robert,” Jaime teased. 

“I don’t scowl,” Cersei scowled. 

“No,” Jaime admitted. “You smile too.” 

Cersei rolled her eyes.

“He sucks exactly as much as he always did,” Jaime warned her. He couldn’t understand how they had made up. Cersei was not known for her capacity for forgiveness. And that such a once in a lifetime event got wasted on Robert Baratheon? Had he been born on a bed of four leaf clovers? What explanation was there for the absurd lengths to which the universe bent probability in that idiot’s favor?

“You still haven’t thanked me for getting you AND Brienne on the royal court,” Cersei changed the subject. That meant she didn’t have a retort.

“I only care because I don’t want you stuck with that creep. Why would I want to spend the next two months volunteering at bake sales?” Jaime wrinkled his nose.

“Brienne will love it,” Cersei said musingly. She too disliked bake sales.

“She will, won’t she?” Jaime felt a grin breaking out on his face. The funny thing was, Brienne deserved to win. If this weren’t a stupid popularity contest, if this were for all the attributes that really mattered in life like kindness and generosity and good works, Brienne would have been a slam dunk. And because she was all of those things, she would actually enjoy doing all of the terrible school programming leading up to prom. Jaime suspected that she would know they had rigged the votes when she won—if only she hadn’t been there when Cersei floated the initial idea—but Jaime knew that once the initial discomfort wore off, Brienne would genuinely enjoy all the good she could do with her newfound position.

He just had to make sure that she didn’t have to spend time with anyone who made her feel less than. His face darkened at the mere thought.

“So who was winning before you got your claws into this?”

“Hmmm. Robert and Catelyn Tully for the seniors. Yours truly and the creature from the black lagoon. Edmure Tully for the sophomore boys. Sophomore girls is between Lynesse Hightower and Kinvara Volant. Freshmen girls would have been Lysa Tully. Freshman boy is between Aeron Greyjoy and Ron Connington.”

Jaime cringed. No. This would not do. Aeron Greyjoy’s problems were manifold and obvious. But Ron Connington… Brienne had told him how in middle school, Ron had created a betting pool amongst his friends on the first boy to kiss her. And had come dangerously close to winning, until Brienne had overheard him bragging about it. She had punched him in the face, naturally. The situation was truly dire when Aeron Greyjoy was the preferable outcome.

A suitable alternative would need to be procured. And quickly. The voting took place on Val’s Day, and a fair amount of preparation needed to go into pulling off their plan.

The plan itself was simple. Robert, supervised by Jon Arryn, was in charge of collecting and counting the votes. He would pick up the boxes from the homeroom teachers and go straight to an empty classroom, accompanied by Arryn. Because Robert was a likely candidate for the senior class king, Arryn would then take the senior boxes to his office next door, locking the door behind him. This was their window. They had the fifteen to thirty minutes it would take Arryn to get through the senior boxes to break into the classroom and provide Robert with enough fake votes to tilt the balance. And not just provide Robert with fake votes—they needed to remove approximately the same number of real votes, so that the total numbers would not be significantly different. Arryn would return and grade papers or something until Robert could present him with the freshman, sophomore and junior totals, and Arryn would do a quick eyeball check to make sure there was nothing grossly off.

Cersei had appointed herself in charge of the gossip campaign that would justify the results. For example, if it got round right before elections, that Lysa Tully had been seen at an abortion clinic with Petyr Baelish… Well, Cersei had smiled, nobody would be that surprised if she didn’t win. And she’d heard a rumor that Euron had spent time in a juvenile psychiatric facility for inappropriate behavior with his younger brothers. Oh you couldn’t find any records, naturally they had all been sealed. Still, didn’t it seem like the kind of thing he would do?

The Asshais had offered to forge the fake votes. A sample demonstration proved they were both competent at mimicking other handwriting. Something to do with having spent the last year without a parent or guardian able to sign legal documents for them.

Dondarrion would serve as lookout on the day of the election. He would wait outside Jon Arryn’s office, and send a warning text when Arryn was preparing to leave. If he hadn’t seen the extraction team, he would engage Arryn in conversation for as long as he could stall. All of the teachers adored Dondarrion, and he would never be suspected of a thing. Jaime was frankly surprised that Dondarrion had even agreed to this, but that was the easiest role anyway.

Stannis and his friend from Flea Bottom had what initially appeared to be the most difficult job. They needed to find a way into the locked room. There were four different classrooms on the hallway where Arryn’s office was. Any one of them could be used. The office was on the third floor—too dangerous to attempt a window, with high risk of being spotted. What was needed was a copy of the master key.

In contrast, all Jaime had to do was find one freshman boy who would be the perfect gentleman to Brienne. 

After a week of inquiries, Jaime would have traded his single functioning hand for Stannis’ job. A fifty in the right pocket and his problems would be over. Instead, he had developed a deep distaste for the freshman class. Surely he hadn’t been quite so shallow at fourteen? 

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you,” Brienne plopped next to him. Jaime, who had been furtively spying on Hyle Hunt from three tables back in study hall, shushed her. He was trying to make out what Hyle was saying to his friend, a spotty fellow. 

“My dad’s making spaghetti if you want to come over for dinner,” Brienne broke the silence. “I can drive you home after.”

Jaime gave up trying to lip read with a sigh. 

“Want to play a quick game of Shoot Screw and Marry?”

“What?” Brienne asked, taken aback.

“It’s a game, where I give you three names and you have to shoot one, screw the second and marry the third. Like say, me, Hyle Hunt and Jorah Mormont.”

“Why?”

“Because you have to,” Jaime said impatiently. “Someone has a gun on you.”

“I would use my gun to disarm the other person and set the four of us free.” 

Jaime growled.

“Okay, does your dream guy have blond hair or brown hair?” 

“Blond,” Brienne smiled and kissed him. Jaime caught a glimpse of his own blond hair and smacked his face. “No that’s not what I meant at all! If I died tomorrow, would some hypothetical perfect guy have blond hair or brown hair?”

“Black,” Brienne rolled her eyes. “You’re being weird again. I’m going to leave if you keep being weird.”

“Do you prefer someone who’s terrible at wrestling or someone who’s terrible at baseball?” Tarly had assured him that Hunt wouldn’t make the first round of cuts. Baseball season hadn’t started yet, but Jaime didn’t have high expectations for Mormont either.

“Neither. I’m leaving now,” Brienne sighed. 

“Wait, wench!” She paused and turned. “The Reach or the North?”

She shook her head and kept going.

Well that wasn’t helpful at all.

It came to him as he was spying on Jorah Mormont (who was in turn spying on Lynesse Hightower). 

He could ask Renly. Renly had been her friend for her entire life. Renly knew about the plan, knew why Brienne couldn’t know about the plan, and could extract the information with her none the wiser.

He had no idea what Renly’s cell was, or even if Renly had a cell. Probably, the Baratheons seemed to give their sons a blank checkbook and a pen when it came to expensive toys.

So instead he just called the Baratheon home number repeatedly until Renly picked up.

“What the hell!” Renly answered after the seventh or eighth try.

“Don’t you answer the phone?!” Jaime demanded.

“Who the fuck is this?!” Renly yelled back. “It is the season finale of Westeros’ Next Top Model!”

“Jaime Lannister. And you shouldn’t be swearing, you’re eight years old,” Jaime snapped.

“Suck a dick,” Renly snapped back. 

“It’s about Brienne,” Jaime began.

“Oh,” said Renly, considerably more subdued. “Why didn’t you say so?”

Jaime explained the situation.

“You’re a total loon,” Renly sighed. “I vote Jorah.”

“This is not a democracy!” Jaime scolded. Where had he heard that lately? “I don’t want you to vote, I want you to tell me for certain who she would prefer.”

“Look, you’ll never know for certain unless you lock her in a room with each of them—“

“Hmmm,” Jaime said, the wheels in his brain starting to turn. Simple. Elegant. One clear answer.

“...are you listening to me? Do not, I repeat DO NOT, lock your girlfriend into a room with a complete stranger, she’ll totally...” Jaime hung up the phone.

The first was as simple as setting a date after school at the sports complex in Iron Port, telling Brienne to meet him by the batting cages and then being really late.

He arrived just as Jorah Mormont connected impressively with a baseball, sending it rocketing to the back of the cage.

“Great job, Jorah!” Brienne shouted encouragingly. “But remember not to let your grip slide.”

“I’m sorry I’m late wench,” Jaime wrapped his arms around her. Brienne shot him a distinctly unimpressed look.

“I’ve been waiting here for over an hour,” she said flatly.

Behind them the ball machine turned off.

“Brienne, you’re a lifesaver,” Jorah blurted. “I can’t believe how much of a difference you’ve made in my swing.”

Brienne blushed just a bit, and Jaime beamed. This was exactly the kind of Freshman King material that had caused Jaime to astutely identify Jorah as having potential.

“Thanks Jorah,” she mumbled.

“I’m serious, I wish I’d had the chance to talk to you earlier in the year. I meant to after the Greyjoy Rebellion, I saw you fight, you were amazing!”

Alright, that’s enough.

“You weren’t bad yourself,” Brienne smiled.

“I got my ass kicked,” Jorah laughed easily. That’s right, he totally had. Jaime on the other hand had been an unstoppable fighting machine.

“But you showed up for your friends,” Brienne said earnestly. “That’s what takes real courage.”

“We should get going,” Jaime inserted himself. “I got us tickets to the putt putt course.”

“You’re welcome to come Jorah,” Brienne put in.

“He needs to work on his swing,” Jaime bared his teeth in an approximation of a smile.

Hyle Hunt was more difficult. He was rarely alone. In fact, Jaime was starting to suspect that he had a pathological fear of being alone, so consistently did he manage to tag along with other people. Finally, days of patient observation paid off with a crack in the case. Hyle Hunt had a job at a drive-in movie theater.

“You surprise me, Lannister,” Brienne had laughed when they had pulled in. Jaime had simply bought tickets to the next thing playing and then kidnapped his girlfriend on a ‘surprise date’.

“Eh?”

“I wouldn’t have thought this kind of film would be your thing,” Brienne smiled, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“What do you mean?” Jaime asked suspiciously. “I love these kinds of films.”

“You love Valyrian subtitled arthouse romances?”

Jaime sighed. Crap. “Oh yes. They’re my favorite. Say, would you get me some popcorn?”

“But I’ll miss the beginning!” Brienne objected.

“Everybody knows the beginning is the least important part. I’ll just be figuring out how to set the radio right.”

“Fine,” Brienne sighed and got out of the car. She returned some five minutes later.

“Here,” she shoved the box at him.

“Was the guy at the counter nice?”

“I dunno, I didn’t talk to him much,” she shrugged.

“You know what,” Jaime inspected his popcorn carefully. “I think this would be better with butter. Do you mind?”

The film, in addition to having subtitles, was in black and white. Also it was about two young boys. One was watching the other through a chain link fence as moody music played when Brienne returned again.

“What’s happening?” She whispered.

“I don’t know, I’m dyslexic,” Jaime whispered back.

“…you’re dyslexic and your favorite movies are ones with subtitles?”

“It’s one of my charming eccentricities. What did the guy at the counter say?”

“He said, ‘Here’s your butter, is that enough?’” Brienne looked at him through narrow eyes. 

“Hmm,” Jaime glanced at the popcorn again. He took a piece in his mouth and chewed it slowly. “You know…”

“Yes,” Brienne said through gritted teeth.

“This could really use some salt,” Jaime gave her his mega-watt smile. “Please wench? For me?”

Brienne groaned.

He was thinking that one of the boys had a crush on the other boy. Or maybe they were ex-lovers, although they seemed a little prepubescent for that. At any rate, one of the boys had definitely acquired a girlfriend, and the other had definitely acquired a gun. Things were actually starting to get interesting when Brienne came running back, slamming the door.

“Seven hells!” Jaime jumped. The boy with the gun was staking out a darkened alley, and the door slam had caught him off guards.

“Jaime, I’m so sorry!” Brienne blurted. Jaime saw with alarm that she’d gone completely pale and there was a catch in her voice.

“What’s wrong Brienne? What happened?”

“It was the popcorn guy,” Brienne confessed. Jaime curled a fist. Hyle Hunt. He’d done something, said something. That weaselly little shit. 

“What did he do,” Jaime snarled.

“He said that I… that I must like him a lot, since I kept coming back. And then,” Brienne was already wincing from an anticipated blow. “Then he wrote his number on a napkin and gave it to me. Oh Jaime! I’m so sorry, I should have cut him off earlier, I should have mentioned my boyfriend, I just wasn’t expecting it and it caught me off-guard. Are you terribly upset?”

Jaime blinked, trying to process.

“You’re upset because the popcorn guy gave you his number?”

“You’re my boyfriend Jaime! I shouldn’t be getting numbers from other guys!”

Jaime leaned over and kissed her. She made a smothered noise of surprise and popcorn went flying. On screen, somebody shot somebody else, but Jaime didn’t care. He might have to have a talk with Hyle Hunt though. And Jorah Mormont was definitely winning Freshman King.


	68. Mel/Rob (V Day 4 of 9)

Melisandre dotted the ‘i’ in Tyffanie with a heart, the purple gel pen she had bought specifically for this purpose going into the garbage immediately thereafter. She sighed and turned to the next name on her list.

Next to her, the phone buzzed. Not her personal cell phone. The other phone. Melisandre glanced at the screen with a smile.

_Thinking about you..._

Melisandre thought for a moment and typed a response.

_What are you wearing ;)_

“I’m so proud,” Thoros said conversationally as he read over her shoulder.

“Hey!” Melisandre yelped, but it was too late. Thoros had pulled the phone out of her hands. She made a jump for it, landing on his shoulders. He immediately held it at arms length, screen still visible. 

“Give it back!” She yelled in his ear. He flinched. Good. She hoped he went deaf.

“No can do, I’m very curious what Stannis is wearing,” Thoros grinned. The phone buzzed again.

“A... lacy.. thong,” Thoros read out loud, through her increasingly desperate efforts to claw it back from him.

“Kinky,” he pulled a face and tossed it back to her. Melisandre caught it and huffed in annoyance.

“That wasn’t from Stannis, obviously.”

“So you know I love you and would never judge your life decisions, but do you really think cheating—“

“It was from Kinvara.”

“Oh fuck that shit! Mel, that girl is the Great Other himself! You can’t start hooking up with her again, I’ll... I’ll tell Mom!”

“Are you quite done?” Melisandre asked coldly. “That threat was more effective when we still had parents by the way.”

“I will shave your head in your sleep.”

“It’s not what it sounds like.”

“How is asking your toxic manipulative ex what she’s wearing not what it sounds like?!”

“Because this is not my phone,” Melisandre dangled the little flip phone meaningfully. Thoros’ eyebrows knitted together.

“Kinvara thinks she has a secret Val’s Day admirer,” Melisandre’s lip quirked. “More than that, she thinks it’s Edmure Tully.”

The summary of her amazing revenge best served at absolute zero and with a knife didn’t nearly do it justice. For more than half the school year now she’d been waiting, biding her time. And then, one magical day in January, their eyes had met across their homeroom classroom, and... nothing.

Kinvara’s pretty blue eyes hadn’t narrowed. She hadn’t glared or smirked. Her gaze had simply swept on. And that was when Melisandre knew the moment had come.

Forgotten had she? Forgotten befriending a girl with nothing, playing with her emotions, insisting she be that girl’s entire world, saying she loved her and dropping her the moment she became boring? More than dropping her, going out of her way to ensure that girl was miserable? Melisandre had not forgotten.

She had purchased a burner phone, one with a Riverlands area code. Then she got a copy of Edmure Tully’s class schedule. Only texted when he had a free period, or she knew Kinvara wouldn’t be able to confirm his whereabouts. Kinvara’s parents were strict in the way Temple elders often were. Her curfew was 9 pm. 

At first Kinvara had ignored the texts. But she was nothing if not an egomaniac and Melisandre had dedicated a year of her life to studying her enemy. 

_You’re the most beautiful girl in school._

_I wish I had the courage to talk to you._

_You’re so brave to talk about your faith like that to Cressen._

The last one had gotten her. It implied that her secret admirer was in her Literature class. 

Edmure Tully was in her Literature class. As was Melisandre.

_Tell me who you are?_

Melisandre had smiled when the response came at last.

Her Edmure Tully couldn’t. He was too shy. And a bit of a romantic. But he wanted to meet her on Val’s Day. Melisandre knew it wouldn’t take Kinvara too long to connect the dots. Twenty-five students in a class. Twelve guys. Three from Riverlands. It was a simple matter of sprinkling in enough clues...

_My sisters tease me about my mystery woman._

And she had Kinvara completely convinced that she was texting with an eligible bachelor from a first family.

Edmure Tully was the perfect choice. He was cute. He was rich. He had no discernible personality traits. If what you wanted was boyfriend as status symbol—and Melisandre had no doubt that was what Kinvara wanted—he was the ideal. 

She knew her work was paying off when Kinvara suddenly threw herself into campaigning for Sophomore Queen. So she could be on the royal court with her secret boyfriend. It was adorable. Truly.

“So what happens on Val’s Day,” Thoros asked, bringing her back to the present.

“On Val’s Day, in a shocking upset, Kinvara loses Sophomore Queen to Lynesse Hightower. Fortunately, she has a date that night with her mystery man. She’s sneaking out of the house, because her parents will be at dinner.” (Melisandre knew not only that her parents would be at dinner, but where they would be at dinner, a feat accomplished by calling every nice restaurant and asking to confirm a reservation for ‘Volant’. It had taken three days.)

“And then?” Thoros prompted. 

Melisandre shrugged, but couldn’t completely conceal the smile that was threatening to overtake her face.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Thoros grumbled.

“I always know I’m doing,” Melisandre shot back.

Thoros was still giving her a skeptical look. He had no vision. Instead, she decided to call somebody who would appreciate her stratagems.

“Hello?” Stannis answered, slightly breathless. 

“What are you up to?” She asked, collapsing backward on her bed, her cell phone cradled in one arm.

“Trying to get a master key for the school,” Stannis grunted. There was a great deal of background noise.

“How’re you going to do it?” Melisandre asked curiously.

“I asked Qyburn if I could stay after school in the lab as long as I promised to lock up after. Now we’re in Flea Bottom because Davos knows a guy who can make copies of keys in an hour.”

“Qyburn just gave you his key?!” Melisandre asked, startled.

“Er not exactly,” Stannis admitted. “I had to give him two hundred dollars. But he was very sympathetic. Said he knows how a young curious mind needs to be free from the stifling fetters of academia. And also suggested bleach for blood stains.”

“Huh,” Melisandre said.

“Yup,” Stannis agreed to the unspoken sentiment. “And now we are in the back of a very disreputable looking bodega, while Davos haggles with a man missing several teeth.”

Melisandre winced. She knew how Stannis hated to haggle.

“So what’s our plan after school then?” Stannis demanded abruptly.

“What?” Melisandre was taken aback.

“I mean for Val’s Day. Were you serious about not wanting to do anything?”

“Oh!” Melisandre shifted uncomfortably in her seat. To be honest, her opinions on Val’s Day had been formed at a time in her life when she was quite single. Still, a woman had to have her principles. Surely having a boyfriend didn’t change that much?

“Um I’d certainly like to see you,” she offered.

“But should I get reservations somewhere nice? Or we could do the ballet like Lannister and Tarth?”

Really, the only reason she had come out so hot against it in the first place had been to reassert herself against Beric. Ever since the events of New Year’s Eve, he hadn’t been quite as scared of her as months past. And that simply wouldn’t do. So she had been looking for opportunities to subtly undermine his self-confidence. All the same, she had gone on record. To back down... Thoros certainly would never let her hear the end of it.

“I remain firm in my stance against the commercialization of love,” Melisandre announced, raising her voice just in case Thoros could hear her from the common room.

“Oh-kay,” Stannis drew out the word in to two distinct, equally unimpressed syllables. “So in practical terms that means...?”

“I would love to go out on Val’s Day with you. You may spend no more than twenty dragons.”

“Only twenty?!” Stannis sounded alarmed. “How about forty?”

“Twenty,” Melisandre held firm.

“Fine,” he sighed. He really did hate to haggle. “Where on Planetos can we go for only twenty dragons?” 

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Melisandre said confidently. “Also I have to do something at eleven thirty sharp, so I’ll need to be home by eleven.”

“Any more ridiculous restrictions I should be aware of?” Stannis muttered.

“Not that I can think of,” Melisandre replied sweetly.

“There’s nothing romantic we’re going to be able to do for twenty dragons,” Stannis told her.

“I can think of something romantic we can do for free,” Melisandre replied, a tiny smile lighting face as she imagined Stannis’ reaction at the other end.

“I’m in public Melisandre!” He scolded her, as if the world would know what she had said to him. 

“Just a thought,” Melisandre purred. “Do you want to know what I’m wearing?”

________

 

“And then I said if she felt that way, maybe she should find something else to do on Friday night, because the girls who come to MY slumber parties know better than to go around making out with scholarship trash,” Cersei recounted animatedly as she simultaneously corrected Robert’s math homework.

Ever since he had woken up for the second time in the Lannister mansion, they had been spending more time together one on one. Which made sense, since they had agreed to date the way normal people did. Robert peeked at Cersei, all domestic on his bed, in bewilderment. It had been just over a month, and he still couldn’t wrap his head around Cersei doing anything the way normal people did.

“She said they weren’t even dating, and I said if that’s the case she wouldn’t mind me going through her text history for the last three weeks. She had it saved under a different name of course, but it was obvious that it was him.”

But when he woke up to find her curled against his chest, not scheming or plotting or wreaking destruction on the masses, just snuggling, it occurred to him that he might be in new territory. 

There had been blood on the sheets—was that her first time? He had been scared to ask, because in his experience, she would resent the insinuation that (i) there was anything he knew more about than her or (ii) he was capable of hurting her. 

Maybe beneath the popular queen bee that everybody knew and the devious ally of convenience that he’d been getting to know, there was a third Cersei who had cried when he had hooked up with another girl and blushed when he kissed her and bit her hand when she’d come. A third Cersei who saw all of the broken pieces that he’d crazy glued back together after Lyanna and thought they were still worth something. 

It was that Cersei who he’d woken up, because he didn’t want to sneak out without saying goodbye. And it was that Cersei who he’d asked if she maybe wanted to go to the Dragons game that weekend. (Although it was the second Cersei who had rolled her eyes back at him and told him the next time he woke her up there had better be a fire.)

So as she continued her diatribe, Robert made a neutral sound of agreement from under the sheets and continued to pet her hair absent-mindedly. Sex tended to have a soporific effect on him, but he was discovering that it only seemed to energize Cersei. Fortunately, conversations with her tended to be a passive activity that gave him ample opportunity to worry about other things. Things like Ned.

“She dumped him pretty quickly after that! But it’s given me serious questions about her judgment. People say you have plenty of time for husband hunting in college, but my girls know that high school is not only a valuable opportunity to make connections but it’s the only chance for practice that you’ll ever get. If you show up to college not knowing how to flirt with the right kind of men because you only dated scrubs—really Robert, this is basic addition. How did you get this wrong?—well there go your chances at getting into a good sorority let alone a secret society. You may as well join the Silent Sisters and save your parents some money...”

Ned hadn’t come over to have a snowball fight. He had barely been coming to class. It took him hours to respond to texts. Robert had taken to bringing him homework, that’s how desperate he was to see him.

“Are you listening to me?” Cersei’s head suddenly shifted beneath his hand, turning to fix him with a piercing green stare. Uncanny the way she sensed when he stopped thinking about her.

“Lollys Stokeworth should join the Silent Sisters?” Robert hazarded a guess. From the minute softening of the gaze, he must have been close to right. Funny, his guesses often were.

“I’m not sure I would go that far, but it’s certainly something to consider,” Cersei chewed her pen cap. Normally that was enough for Robert’s libido to kick in for round two, but he’d been unaccountably slow to the draw of late. He was just so worried about Ned.

“Where are you?” Cersei finally demanded.

“Why isn’t Ned back to normal? It’s been over a month,” the complaint slipped out petulantly before Robert could reel it back in. Well so what if it was insensitive. Cersei was hardly one to judge. Except apparently, she was.

“His twin sister is in a coma,” Cersei replied through gritted teeth.

“She’s not dead,” Robert said sulkily. “All the doctors say she’ll wake up any day now.”

“What would you do if Stannis were in a coma?!” Cersei snapped. Robert blinked. That was ridiculous. Stannis would never be in a coma. His head was too hard.

“Look, he’s just worried about his family,” Cersei sat up and started to massage his shoulders. Robert felt the tension slowly ebbing out of them.

“But I’m his family,” the last traitorous thought bubbled out.

“What can we do to make you feel better,” Cersei whispered musingly. Oh. There his libido was. Cersei glanced down at the rapidly tenting sheets covering his lap. “Whatever can we do,” she drawled. 

“You could fix it,” Robert said. He was rigging the entire royal court election for her after all. A normal girlfriend would want flowers or jewelry or a fucking car. Oh no. Not Cersei. The least she could do was one of her master puppeteer plots for him. One of those Second Cersei things where she wiggled her fingers and everybody was dancing to her whim. That was basically an average Tuesday for her. But no.

“Fix this?” Cersei cupped him through the sheets.

“Fix Ned,” Robert said stubbornly, refusing to be deterred. Cersei’s hand withdrew as if she had been burned.

“I can’t fix a coma Robert,” she hissed. She was mad. That was okay. All the time they’d been spending together had been teaching him how to manage her moods. 

Step One. Physical Affection. Robert caught one of her ankles and kissed it.

Step Two. Walk Back Offensive Statement.

“I just want Ned to smile,” he kissed her calf, “for a second,” he kissed the underside of her knee.

Step Three. Call in Favor. 

“For Val’s Day,” he kissed her inner thigh. “Since we’re exchanging gifts.” 

Step Four. Flattery. 

“You’re so good with people Cersei,” he gave her his best boyish grin. “You can do anything, I know you can.” He kissed her other thigh.

Step Five. Beg. 

“Please Cersei, for me?”

Cersei bit her lip. Robert thought she was like one of those beautiful tropical flowers. The carnivorous ones that ate people.

“Well,” she relented, and he ducked his head so she wouldn’t see his smirk. “Only because you asked... oh!” Her fingers clenched the bed sheets. “... so nicely,” she managed to finish as he properly expressed his gratitude.


	69. Beric (V Day 5 of 9)

Beric felt vaguely nauseous every time he thought about this mess he had gotten himself into, but honestly, he didn’t see any way out. Or rather, he did see the way out, and that was to suck it up and do this incredibly shady and very against-the-rules plan, because he wasn’t going to bail on his boyfriend just because he really didn’t want to get in trouble.

The thing was that, yes Melisandre, he knew Thoros was way too cool for him, and he had no idea why Thoros hadn’t noticed what a stick-in-the-mud he was either. Literally his entire life people had found him painfully dull. And by some miracle, he had found the one person that didn’t, and that person actually LIKED him, and dear gods he couldn’t mess that up. So he had given talking Thoros out of this sketchy and super dubious idea his best shot. Thoros had taken him about as seriously as he took most things, which was not seriously at all. And between goofy arguments about Jorah Mormont and Thoros kissing his way down the scar tissue of Beric’s poor fucked up body, Beric might have accidentally reasserted his willingness to jeopardize his academic career.

Deep breaths, Beric told himself, as he covertly trailed Robert and Jon Arryn down the hall, watching from a healthy distance as they collected various boxes from the homeroom teachers.

The first time he had said that he was totally fine with this asinine gamble had been at Robert’s house, when they had been discussing the plan in low voices, and Beric had been getting more and more uncomfortable and imagining what kind of conversation getting caught would entail with his parents and his college advisor. He had noticed Jaime and Robert stealing glances at him. And then Jaime had given Robert a sort of aggressive ‘you deal with it’ nudge. And Robert had come over and given him a very hesitant speech about how everybody understood if Beric didn’t feel comfortable… 

Of course they had known he had wanted to bail. He knew what his reputation on the football team had been. The boring goody-two-shoes. But the whole time Robert was giving him this awkward PSA against peer pressure, Thoros was looking at them confused. And Beric realized that maybe Thoros didn’t know what his reputation had been. And the thought of Thoros finding out and being disappointed made him terribly sad.

So instead he had half-shrugged and said he was completely fine with the whole thing, and when Robert had looked backwards at Jaime, stymied, Beric had glared at Jaime until the two crawled back to their respective girlfriends. At the time, he’d been relieved. But now he was walking through this hall with a one-way ticket to the principal’s office and wondering if he should have been quite so cavalier.

You’re just walking in the hall. That’s not a crime is it? You walk down halls all the time. Just don’t look suspicious. Beric found he was very aware of his hands. What did people do with their hands when they walked down a hall? Beric couldn’t remember.

Robert collected the last shoebox of votes, balancing them precariously in a stack. Jon Arryn eyed his approach with no little concern but they miraculously did not fall.

The two headed for the elevator for the third floor. Beric took his cue to hurry for the stairwell, where Stannis would no doubt be lurking as well.

Beric had thankfully already been designated look out, based on his spotless reputation. The spotless reputation that was currently very much at risk. The irony of choosing the boy with one eye as lookout did not seem to have occurred to anyone but him. Everyone else drew straws to see who was going to actually do the swap. Davos and Cersei had been understandably relieved to draw the long straws. In contrast, Jaime, Melisandre and Thoros had seemed unaccountably disappointed, possibly because they were terrifying adrenaline junkies to whom the words ‘permanent record’ were meaningless.

Stannis had grimaced when he drew the short straw, and Beric had been tempted to suggest giving it to Jaime. Only the fear of Thoros trying to take it instead led him to hold his tongue. All the same, Beric consoled himself, if he’d been given the job to pick somebody for this mission, he would have picked Stannis.

As much as he loved his boyfriend, Thoros seemed to be cheerfully drawn to trouble. Plus he and Robert really should never be left alone in a room together unsupervised. They would probably find a way to set the entire classroom on fire. Jaime Lannister was still doing physical therapy on his hand—Beric had little sympathy, try doing it when your entire abdomen and neck had to be stitched back together—but even if he were physically fit, he had a propensity to self-destruction that Beric didn’t trust. Melisandre was way too excited about the whole thing. He didn’t understand how Cersei’s plan had become Melisandre’s plan (devious or not, Cersei’s stratagems seemed poorly suited for someone as... unique... as Melisandre), but she was zealously enthusiastic about it.

No, it was for the best that Stannis drew the short straw. 

He found the boy in question peering through the window on the third floor, absently toying with his master key, a backpack stuffed to the brim with substitute ballots on his shoulder.

“They just went into the classroom across the hall from Arryn’s office,” Stannis reported. Beric felt a flicker of panic. That was strategically the worst classroom for them, because it meant that if Arryn looked up at the wrong time, he might see Stannis letting himself in or out of the classroom.

“You’ll be fine. Just breathe,” Stannis ordered him. Beric realized that he hadn’t exhaled in several minutes and let out a gasping sigh. Stannis peered back through the window in the door.

“Arryn’s coming out now with the senior boxes,” Stannis narrated. “He’s looking around... he’s going into his office, the door is shutting.” 

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

“Let’s give it thirty seconds in case he forgot something. You have your phone out?” Beric managed to nod.

“You’re holding your breath again,” Stannis rolled his eyes and then he opened the door and slid out. 

Exhale.

Beric crept after him. When Stannis had just about reached the point at which he would enter Jon Arryn’s field of vision through the narrow window to his office, he nodded to Beric. Beric screwed up his courage.

He stepped forward, clearly visible to Arryn, but blocking the view of anything else. He made a show of pulling out his phone. Checking the time. Behind him, Stannis was opening the door to Robert’s classroom with the master key. Beric pantomimed sending a text. The classroom door opened. Beric gaped at the clock above Arryn’s office and then again at his phone as if the two times didn’t match. The door closed. With a sigh of relief, Beric moved down the hall. He treated himself to a long gulp from the water fountain. The worst was over. Stannis would just swap the ballots in his bag, carefully marked in labeled ziplock bags, with the corresponding ballots in the shoe boxes. How long did that take? Four minutes? Five? 

Beric glanced up and down the hallway. Nothing.

Everybody would be sitting in their homerooms, waiting for Robert to announce the election results via loudspeaker from the principal’s office. He felt a twinge of guilt at the rightful winners of the freshman election, whomever they would have been. But they had the next three years to win. Sometimes adversity builds character. 

And sometimes it just causes you to miss spring semester and require half a dozen surgeries and years of physical therapy, his conscience snarked.

He glanced at his watch. Four minutes.

The office opened and Arryn stuck his head out.

“Beric? I thought I saw you. Can I help you?”

Beric gulped.

“I was actually hoping you could tell me what grade I got on the last essay? I’ve just been really worried that I missed some of the character development of the protagonist?”

Jon Arryn sighed. 

“I can’t discuss grades until they’re all complete, you know that Beric.”

“Right but what if you just happened to have it on your desk and I just happened to see—“

“No, I really can’t play favorites with any of my students.”

“But—“

“No Beric,” Jon Arryn said sternly and went back into his office.

Robert would be helping Stannis of course. Shouldn’t that make it two minutes then? Beric glanced again at the door. He froze. The key was in the door. 

The key was in the door.

Once locked, the doors would re-lock automatically. Which meant the door was currently locked. If the door was currently locked... the breath caught in Beric’s throat again. Stannis was locked inside the classroom.

Just then, the door to Jon Arryn’s office partially opened. He was on the phone.

“I’m sorry Hoster, I can see why she’s distressed. No, I can’t imagine what she’s going through—“

It was a split second window. Beric had only a moment to decide. The moment when heroes and cravens are born. When academic records are made and broken. When a certain boyfriend might smile at you lazily like he was completely unsurprised that you saved the day.

Beric calmly walked over to the classroom. Jon Arryn was still on the phone, looking back into the office. Beric opened the door, grabbed the key, and went inside.

“Hide!” He hissed. Stannis had been standing there with his phone out.

“What?” Stannis said frowning, “he can’t be done with the count already?” But Beric was already scanning the classroom. He ran to the closet. Bursting at the seams with supplies. Ugh. He looked around. Under the teacher’s desk. 

Robert had spread out all the shoeboxes on the desk, and was sitting there slowly counting the few tallies that they weren’t actively sabotaging. Beric grabbed Stannis and push-pulled them both under the desk. 

“Woah, Beric,” Robert joked as Beric clambered past him, dragging Stannis along.

“Shut up,” Beric growled, and that took both Baratheons aback. Merciful silence, just in time for the sound of the door opening.

“How’s it going in here?” Jon Arryn asked cheerfully. Beric could hear his footsteps along the other side of the desk. His head was bent at an impossibly acute angle, his body and Stannis’ body and Robert’s legs all jammed into the same tiny rectangular space. Robert was wearing gym shorts, and Beric twisted slightly to avert his eyes from the all too clear view. Unfortunately that just brought him face to face with a glowering Stannis.

“It’s going,” Robert responded, to his credit only slightly nervously. “Done with the seniors already? Did you come to congratulate me?”

“Ha! Don’t count your chickens boy. Oberyn Martell is giving you a run for your money.”

“Clearly you haven’t hit his ex girlfriends yet,” Robert joked, as if the back of Stannis’ head weren’t smushed against his crotch.

“I just got off the phone with Hoster Tully. He says his daughter Lysa’s a wreck about some rumor going around. I don’t suppose she’s up in the count?” 

“I haven’t gotten to the freshmen yet,” Robert said. “Guess I’d better get a move on.”

Beric realized with a dawning sense of horror that he had to sneeze. If only he could scratch his nose. His face twitched as he tried to keep it together. Stannis’ focused glare turned into alarm as Beric sniffed. Stannis shook his head frantically, to the extent he was able to move his head at all. Robert shifted uncomfortably.

Arryn thankfully had started for the door. He just needed to hold it a second longer. 

He tried to keep it in. He really did. But then—

“ACHOO!” 

“The Mother bless you!” Arryn said cheerfully, apparently under the impression that it came from Robert.

“Thank you,” Robert said slowly. 

“Oh is that my key?” 

What? Beric’s eyes met Stannis’, both of them goggling. He’d had the key! It had been there, right in his hand, and then he’d been clambering over Robert to get under the desk and pulling Stannis behind him and he’d put his hand down... on top of the desk... fuuuuuuuck.

“I think it’s my locker key,” Robert blurted, but Arryn had already come back.

“Don’t be ridiculous, the lockers have combinations.”

“I meant my other locker?” Robert said hopefully. “The one... at the gym I use?”

“No, this is one of the stupid master keys I’m always misplacing. I have like five, I’d recognize it anywhere. Okay, see you shortly with the tallies!” Arryn’s steps again receded and there was a click as the door locked behind him.

Robert immediately scooted his chair back, allowing Beric and Stannis to collapse outwards in a pile.

“You’re locked in!” Robert whispered frantically. Thank you Captain Obvious, Beric thought.

“Why did you leave it on the desk?!” Stannis clapped his hands over his face.

“Why did you leave it in the door?!” Beric retorted defensively.

“We’re trapped,” Stannis groaned.

There was a pause as they all pondered this.

“Not necessarily,” Robert said slowly. Beric wondered why he really REALLY didn’t like the sound of that.

“If I stand on the desk and give you guys a boost...” he got up and started pushing at various ceiling panels. The fourth one gave.

“A lot of these aren’t screwed in, so they can access the wiring for the lights. There’s a crawlspace up there.”

“Okay,” Beric said slowly. Why did Robert know these things?

“All you have to do is crawl to the next classroom, pop another panel, and jump down,” Robert said calmly as if he were proposing that they do something simple like open a door.

“How will we know when we’ve reached another classroom?” Stannis asked doubtfully.

“Oh come on, you’re both students here. You can picture the layout of the floor in your head. Give it your best shot,” Robert shrugged.

Stannis looked at Beric.

“No,” Beric shook his head.

“I really don’t see that we have any other choice,” Stannis said evenly.

Just be the look-out, they said. That’s the easiest job, they said.

“Alright,” Beric felt his resolve collapse. “Who’s going first?”

The crawlspace was dark and dusty and filthy. Beric had sneezed three times before they had gone ten feet. They were inching along on their hands and knees, but the need for a flashlight meant it was slow going. Beric clenched his cell phone in his right hand, as he inched forward with all of his weight on his left. 

He brushed through yet another cobweb and winced. Spiders. He was covered in spiders. He was convinced of this, he could feel them scampering down his shirt and crawling around his hair. He put the phone down again and patted himself down as best he could.

“Are we stopping again?!” Stannis groaned behind him.

“The spiders—“

“The only spiders, Beric,” Stannis said through gritted teeth, “are the ones in your head. Now get going,” he pushed from behind.

Beric swallowed, searching for a blistering comeback. When none materialized, he set off again in a huff.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way?” He asked for the fifth time. He would have said left at the last turn, but Stannis had been adamant they go right.

“Positive,” Stannis bit out. 

They continued on for several minutes in silence.

“Do you... hear something?” Beric suddenly asked. They listened. Sure enough, Beric could distinctly hear the muffled voice of somebody talking.

“Maybe there’s somebody in this classroom?” Stannis ventured.

“There’s nobody in the third floor classrooms, everyone’s down in homeroom waiting for the vote count,” Beric replied testily. “The only people on the third floor are Robert and...”

It was at that moment that he put his weight-bearing hand down, not on the plywood of the crawlspace but on the fiber of the ceiling tile directly below. 

As the ceiling tile gave way, Beric only had time for a split-second yelp of pure terror before he was tumbling down onto Jon Arryn’s desk with a crash.

He landed on his back, covered in dust and cobwebs, blinking up at Jon Arrryn.

Jon Arryn, once more on his cell phone, looked equally befuddled.

“Hoster, I’m going to have to call you back...” he said slowly before hanging up.

Beric cleared his throat. Above and behind Jon Arryn’s head, Stannis’ face briefly poked out of the ceiling hole. Seeing that Beric was alive, he disappeared again.

“Beric,” Jon Arryn said slowly, “I told you, you’ll find out your grade on the English essay as soon as I’m done grading them all. Was it really bothering you that much?”

Beric swallowed. There was really only one possible response.

“Yes,” he squeaked. 

Jon Arryn sighed and massaged his temples.

“You got an A.”

Beric smiled.

“Now you have an A and a detention.”

Beric frowned.


	70. Brienne (V Day 6 of 9)

Brienne woke up on Val’s Day morning with butterflies in her stomach and a boyfriend in her bed. One of those was par for the course on Val’s Day—the other was decidedly not.

For most of her life, Val’s Day had been a holiday to be ignored at all costs, lest she wind up a weepy wreck eating chocolates and watching terrible daytime television. She would wake up with that nervous clench of anxiety around her heart, mindful of the need to keep her eyes down and avoid the constant reminders that all any girl her age should be aspiring to was the one thing she would never have. 

In contrast, today she woke up to Jaime, asleep on top of the covers next to her, mouth half-open and snoring softly. It came as a great relief that he was an ugly sleeper; until now she had started to think there was nothing he could not do without being dashingly handsome.

“Wake up Jaime,” she whispered. “I think we lost track of time. You need to get home before our parents wake up.”

One brilliant green eye cracked open.

“You lost track of time. I deliberately overstayed my welcome so that I could do this,” he leaned forward and kissed her. “Happy Val’s Day, wench.”

A small smile of pure happiness broke across her face.

“Happy Val’s Day, Jaime,” she whispered back. Then he was quietly slipping out of her room and after a minute or two, she saw his car pull out of the driveway.

At King’s Landing Prep, everyone else seemed to have caught her jitters as well. The halls were filled with a low buzz all day, students standing in clustered knots.

“Did you hear—“

“...parents haven’t found out yet.”

“—made her get one—“

Brienne looked around confusedly. She wished, not for the first time, that she had a friend in the freshman class who she could ask about these things. Then she remembered that she kind of did.

“Hi Jorah,” Brienne began cautiously, approaching the boy, who was frantically doing his math homework before the homeroom bell rang. She hoped it wasn’t one of those things where he was nice to her outside of school and then acted like he didn’t know her on school grounds.

“Hi Brienne,” Jorah grinned. “How’s your day going? Excited for the royal court elections?”

“Not really,” Brienne grinned back in pure relief. “What’s everybody talking about?”

Jorah’s eyes went huge.

“You haven’t heard?!” He blurted.

“Er no,” Brienne admitted.

“Okay,” Jorah lowered his voice, and Brienne automatically moved her head in closer conspiratorially. “Everyone’s saying that Petyr Baelish knocked up Lysa Tully. And that either he found out or her dad found out and they made her get an abortion! And she didn’t want to, she was crying the whole way!”

“What?!” Brienne said, taken aback. Surely they couldn’t do that if she didn’t want one?

“It’s all anyone’s talking about,” Jorah nodded.

“How would anybody know?” Brienne frowned. “Who is this according to?”

“Nobody knows,” Jorah shrugged. “According to Vary’s blog, Petyr dumped Lysa, but the blog didn’t say anything about an abortion.”

“That’s awful,” Brienne breathed, thinking of poor anxious Lysa Tully, dealing first with a breakup and now with a scurrilous rumor. Brienne couldn’t even imagine what she was going through.

“Yeah,” Jorah agreed absently, already turning his attention back to his math homework. 

When Brienne saw Lysa Tully in the hallway between periods, she tried to give her an encouraging smile. She didn’t know if Lysa noticed or not—the redhead was pale, eyes red, arms hugging herself. She seemed on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

The day went quickly—to budget time for the election at the end of the day, all of the periods were some ten minutes shorter.

Then they were all herded into their homerooms and the elections began. Brienne immediately voted for Lysa Tully for Freshman Queen. She hadn’t been sure who she was going to vote for before this morning—the position was supposed to go that freshman girl who best exemplified the traits of an outstanding KLP citizen, and Brienne wouldn’t necessarily have picked Lysa, who was a mediocre student and a little too enthusiastic a participant in Center Table’s drama—but this was an extenuating circumstance if Brienne had ever seen one. Brienne wavered a great deal more over Freshman King. Everybody said Ron Connington was going to win, and just the thought of that injustice made Brienne want to grind her teeth.

Finally, as they were calling time, she wrote down Jorah’s name. She thought on principle that it was wrong to vote for your friends (she and Jorah weren’t even friends, they’d barely spent more than an hour together and she knew how much he wanted Lynesse Hightower to notice him) only Brienne didn’t know who else to vote for.

After a minute or two, Robert came by to collect the votes. He saw her and waved absently, and Brienne blushed, still not used to the sensation of the most popular boy in school knowing who she was, even if she had been best friends with his little brother for ages.

And then they waited. 

Most of the students in her homeroom class chatted idly with their companions. Brienne as usual was solo. Instead, she pulled out her assigned reading for Valyrian class the next day and began to struggle through Miss Quaithe’s homework.

Was it just her or did the vote tally take a long time? She was almost done with the reading when there was a burst of static from the school’s public announcement system.

“Hello hello,” Robert’s voice cheerfully crackled over the loudspeaker. “This is your student-body lord paramount speaking, coming to you live with the results of this year’s royal court elections.”

“For senior king we have the devastatingly handsome and well-endowed—“

“Robert!”

“—sorry Mr. Arryn, I meant my endowment is HUGE—“

“ROBERT!”

“What Mr. Arryn, they all know I’m a trust fund kid,” Brienne rolled her eyes, she could practically hear the leer in Robert’s voice, “anyway, it’s me. I won. For Senior Queen we have the always classy and brilliant Catelyn Tully!”

Brienne smiled. She supposed Robert was always going to win, and Catelyn was the perfect choice for Senior Queen. 

“Next up is the Junior King and Queen. Am I seeing double? Nope, I’m not drunk yet, the winners are Jaime and Cersei Lannister!”

Brienne felt a burst of pride. That was her boyfriend. Outstanding citizen of the junior class. She knew Cersei couldn’t be right, that Euron Greyjoy would win. Not after that business with Melisandre Asshai.

“Sophomore King is Edmure Tully and winning Sophomore Queen by a hair, it’s Lynesse Hightower.”

Next up were the freshman results, and a hushed silence fell across Brienne’s homeroom class.

“Freshman King is our first Northerner, it’s Jorah Mormont!”

Brienne felt a jolt of uneasy surprise. Sure she had voted for him, but she didn’t think he had very many friends either. Don’t be silly, she told herself. Other people aren’t as shallow as you make them out to be. No doubt plenty of people saw what a good kind person he was and—

“And last but definitely not least because she’s from Stormlands and we’re the best, Freshman Queen is Brienne Tarth!”

Seven hells. They had rigged the elections.

Brienne felt her face burning, keenly aware that her classmates were eyeing her with newfound interest. Which was ridiculous. Surely nobody could actually believe that she had won what basically amounted to a stupid popularity contest?!

“Well she does date Jaime Lannister,” somebody murmured behind her.

“She’s good friends with the Baratheons, she gets invited to all Robert’s parties,” a voice somewhere off to her left whispered.

“I told you she was hot!” A louder more boisterous voice from the back. It was the guy from the drive-in movie theater. Brienne wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

As class let out, everyone practically stamped for the halls to discuss the latest developments with their friends. Brienne sighed. Should she say something? She had never considered herself a tattletale, and she hated the idea of getting Jaime and the others in trouble. But surely she couldn’t let herself benefit from something they had done?! Maybe she could confess, but in a way that implicated herself and nobody else. After all, even if she hadn’t known, she should’ve known. Jaime had been so odd the last two weeks. 

“Brienne!” Jorah came running up to her and gave her a big hug. “Can you believe this?! I feel like I must be dreaming!”

Brienne had to smile at her excitable counterpart. He was so happy, so thrilled to get a chance to talk to Lynesse Hightower. How could she take that away from him?

“I voted for you,” she said simply, because it was the nicest true thing she could say.

“I voted for you!” Jorah laughed. 

“What?! Why?!” Brienne spluttered. Jorah rolled his eyes.

“Have you seriously not noticed that you’re the coolest person in our grade? You kick ass, you’re great at sports, you’re nice to everyone. Why wouldn’t I vote for you?”

“I’m going to find Jaime,” Brienne muttered, before her skin could go any more tomato.

She found him with Cersei, surrounded by well-wishers. When he saw her he beamed and pushed his way through them to get to her.

“I always knew you were Freshman Queen material,” Jaime grinned and tried to kiss her. She ducked her head and he caught just a brush of her cheek.

“Can we talk?” She said, the guilt squeezing her heart into pulp.

“Of course,” Jaime laughed but he made no move to leave the hallway.

“In private?” Brienne narrowed her eyes at him.

“I have to do my royal coronation parade,” Jaime refused, his face the picture of innocence. “Shake hands, kiss babies, that sort of thing. You should be doing some of that yourself. We can’t let our newfound importance go to our heads. Besides, I’ll see you tonight, yes? Picking you up at six?”

“Fine,” Brienne grumbled, trying to tell her conscience that she had made a good faith effort and they could hash it out tonight anyway.

“Terrific!” Jaime exclaimed. If anything he looked TOO innocent. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to find Euron. Where did that squid get to anyway?”

Maybe Brienne should have stayed around to thank the many people who were suddenly appearing out of the woodwork to congratulate her. People who had spoken to her since elementary school. People who had NEVER spoken to her. But the longer she wandered through this weird mirror world where everybody loved Brienne Tarth, the more she wanted to go home.

She spent the afternoon sulking in her bedroom. Jaime had texted her father (since when did they text?!) the good news, and she had to multiple times ward off his excited attempts at celebratory baked goods. 

“I don’t need any cookies, I’m having dinner with Jaime tonight,” Brienne said, gently pushing him out for the third or fourth time.

“I’m just so excited for you! Maybe you should think about student government! Maybe you should think about actual government! My daughter, the senator!” Selwyn Tarth beamed.

“It’s just a stupid popularity contest,” Brienne groaned. “You don’t even do anything.”

“Technically not true,” Jaime suddenly called from downstairs.

“Jaime?! You’re early! I’m not even changed yet!” Brienne blurted, running out onto the landing where they could talk without yelling.

“You always look radiant to me,” Jaime winked. “I thought I’d get here early since you wanted to talk.”

“Right,” Brienne said flustered. Her poor father. He was so happy for her. What would he say when he found out the election was a sham? “We’re talking. Let me just put on my dress for tonight.”

When she got down, Jaime’s jaw dropped.

“You look... magnificent, Bri,” he finally breathed.

Brienne had picked a full-length red dress that was strapless. She was trying not to take deep breaths and was petrified that any moment the top might fall down and leave her flashing the world. All the same, it was gratifying to see the expression on Jaime’s face. Finally, she felt like she had mastery over the situation.

“Now we’re talking,” she said sternly, and had to hide a smile at how nervous Jaime looked.

“Right, talking,” he swallowed. “I must admit, it’s rather hard to concentrate when you look so breathtaking.”

“But you will,” Brienne crossed her arms. “Now, I want honesty. Did you rig the votes?”

“Only half of them,” Jaime winced. “And technically Stannis drew the short straw so Stannis...”

“Jaime!” Brienne hit him with a pillow. “You have no idea how upset Lysa Tully was in school today. She was a wreck! And you took that from her!”

“Lysa Tully was upset because somebody spread a rumor about her, not because she lost a fake election. I had nothing to do with that rumor,” Jaime cleared his throat. “She’ll win next year. And the year after. And the year after that.”

“But—how can I just let a lie bring me all kinds of benefits that I didn’t earn?” Brienne groaned.

“Wench, you mystify me. Fortunately, I thought this might be a problem, and I have a solution,” Jaime grinned cockily.

“Okay,” Brienne raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Rigging the election was bad right?”

“Yes,” Brienne said immediately. “Very bad.”

“UNLESS, it creates a good that outweighs the bad,” Jaime continued as if she had not interrupted. “All you need to do is use your position to do more good than rigging the election was bad.”

Brienne frowned.

“My position?”

“First, the royal court has to fund raise school events. This is your opportunity to make sure we actually raise money instead of fucking around AND make sure it goes to a good cause, like our underfunded school band instead of yet another set of cheerleading uniforms. Second, you might not be popular on Monday, but you sure won’t be nobody. If somebody like you makes a big deal of talking to Lysa Tully, people will take notice. They’ll think maybe this whole rumor was overblown. This is your chance to crusade for social justice!” Jaime finished triumphantly, and gave a bow. 

“I guess,” Brienne began uncertainly.

“You know,” Jaime pointed at her. “You are just inherently suspicious of anything that might be fun.”

“I am not!” Brienne exclaimed in outrage.

“Then prove it,” Jaime winked, extending a hand. “And let’s celebrate you winning Freshman Queen.”

Brienne hesitated, looking at his hand. Jaime smiling expectantly at her, his blond hair just a little rumpled, green eyes sparkling mischievously. He was wearing a suit again. He knew how she felt about him in a suit. She felt her will power crumbling.

“Only because it’s Val’s Day,” Brienne took his hand. He laughed, and she felt a thrill of happiness. 

“Well what are we waiting for?” Jaime said tugging her out the door. “Let’s go!”


	71. Cers/Thor (V Day 7 of 9)

Cersei found Lysa Tully sobbing in the second floor library bathroom during lunch. Really?! Was there nowhere else?! This was HER spot. 

With a quick glance under the stall to confirm those were Lysa’s dreadfully last season patent leather boots, Cersei knocked on the door.

“Lysa? Is that you?”

“...Cersei?” A small voice asked from inside.

“Oh honey, open the door. There’s nothing worth crying about,” Cersei cooed. 

The door slowly opened. Lysa’s red hair was frizzing terribly and her watery blue eyes could barely hold Cersei’s gaze. A lesser woman might feel guilt for the damage she had wrought, but Cersei didn’t really do guilt. 

“There, there,” she gave the girl a stiff hug, trying to pat her on the head while keeping that runny nose far away from her silk blouse, thank you. “What’s all this about?”

“Everybody’s saying I had an abortion,” Lysa blubbered. “And it’s not true! Petyr dumped me and he won’t even tell people it’s all lies. And now I’m going to lose the election, and I didn’t even want to come to school today but father FORCED me too.”

“He didn’t!” Cersei gasped in fake sympathy. This would be even easier than she thought. “Doesn’t he care what you’re going through? Doesn’t he understand how traumatizing this is?! Your sister is sure to win, your brother is sure to win, and meanwhile people are saying you’re damaged goods?!”

“People are saying that?!” Lysa’s lower lip trembled.

“Oh yes,” Cersei nodded. 

“Then I’ll lose the election for sure,” Lysa’s voice cracked and she dissolved into another round of tears. Tiresome.

“It looks that way,” Cersei said gently. Frankly, if she didn’t, after Cersei had gone through all the effort of making sure Stannis would draw the short straw to stuff the ballot by breaking it in half as she handed it to him, Cersei would be very annoyed. Stannis Baratheon was the most competent person in Robert’s somewhat dubious circle of friends.

“Oh you mustn’t worry about the royal court,” Cersei said soothingly. “That’s all nonsense. Everyone knows that the girls who get it freshman year are never in the running by senior year. Catelyn’s freshman year it was Elia Martell! My freshman year it was a girl who doesn’t even go here anymore!” 

Damn straight. So odd how those drugs had turned up in Ros’ locker right before that random search.

“I guess that’s true,” said Lysa, looking moderately cheered.

“But what you can’t do is let your father and Petyr get away with this,” Cersei said, very darkly. “They are being QUITE unkind.”

“They are, aren’t they?” Lysa sniffed.

“Thinking if they just ignore your pain, it’ll go away?! Oh no, I think it’s time to teach them a lesson,” Cersei smirked. “You agree, don’t you Lysa?”

Lysa nodded timidly.

“What I think you need,” Cersei turned to the mirror and began reapplying her lipstick. “Is an old-fashioned panic attack.”

“What?” Lysa asked, startled.

“Yes,” Cersei nodded decidedly. “It’s perfect. You get sent to the hospital, and everybody gets mad at Petyr, because we all know it’s his fault. I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t get back together with you out of pure guilt.” 

“Really?” Lysa breathed.

“Yup,” Cersei said, popping her lips on the ‘p’ sound to make sure her lipstick was evenly applied. “AND your father will be just sick with worry. That’ll teach him to send you to school when you’re not feeling well.”

“So how do I do it? Have a panic attack, I mean.”

“Oh sweetling, you won’t actually have one. All you need to do is hyperventilate. Gasp for air. Clutch your chest a lot. Say you can’t breathe. Complain of an unspecified pain in your chest. Keep it vague—the nurse will send you to the hospital as long as she can’t prove that something ISN’T wrong.”

“Wow!” Lysa’s eyes were round. “How do you know all this stuff?!”

“How do you not?” Cersei tucked her lipstick tube back in her purse.

Sure enough, Lysa Tully had been taken to Crone’s Mercy before the election results announced. 

Cersei cut her congratulatory reception short, waving her well-wishers off with a gracious smile. Then she hurried to the senior hallway to find Catelyn Tully. As predicted, Catelyn was hurriedly packing.

“Catelyn! Congrats!” Cersei plastered a bright fake smile on her face. Catelyn was packing her school bag, but had time to give a brief harried smile back.

“Thanks, you too Cersei,” Catelyn was zipping her bag up and starting to push through the crowd.

“I heard about your sister,” Cersei lengthened her stride to keep pace, suppressing a ripple of irritation. Normally people adjusted to her pace, not the other way around. “I’m just too sorry for words.”

Catelyn gave her another tight smile but no response.

“I was wondering if you were going to visit after school?”

“I’m on my way there now,” Catelyn admitted.

“Do you suppose I could come with?” Cersei tilted her head. When Catelyn turned in surprised, she gave her best innocent laugh.

“I just think the more friendly faces that Lysa sees, the more she’ll realize that nobody who’s anybody puts any stock in that dreadful rumor.”

“That’s probably true,” Catelyn said slowly. “Thanks Cersei, that’s very thoughtful of you.”

Cersei cast her eyes down modestly.

The drive to the hospital took ages in the afternoon traffic, and Cersei had to spend the entire time prattling to Catelyn Tully, who was as vanilla as they came. Fortunately she was able to multi-task by texting Petyr Baelish, who was having his own possibly real panic attack about the potential damage to his reputation. All it took was a few well placed texts about how if he were seen with Lysa again, people would know there wasn’t any truth to the rumor, and Cersei knew the germ of reconciliation had been planted. Then she and Catelyn had to actually go inside the hospital—ew, sick people—and it was at that point that Cersei took control again.

“Catelyn, why don’t you take my credit card and buy some flowers from that shop? I’m sure Lysa would love if we made a little bit of a fuss over her. I’ll see what room she’s in.”

Once Catelyn had emerged, clutching a big bouquet of wildflowers, Cersei led her confidently upstairs. She found the room she wanted and swept in.

“I hope we’re not interrupting,” Cersei said politely as Catelyn stepped in as well, only to be confronted with a tired looking Ned Stark.

“C-Catelyn,” Ned stammered.

Catelyn blushed. Ned blushed. Cersei tapped her foot.

“Catelyn just came by to drop this bouquet off,” Cersei announced, taking it from Catelyn’s suddenly limp hands and pressing it into Ned’s. “I told her she could just order them online, but she insisted on dropping them off in person.”

“Wildflowers are Lyanna’s favorite,” Ned gave Catelyn a small sad smile. Catelyn was still studying the space over his shoulder.

“That’s what Catelyn said,” Cersei chipped in. “We need to visit Catelyn’s sister, but do you want to get a snack with us in the cantina in a bit? I was here a bunch for Jaime’s rehab, the puddings are surprisingly marvelous,” she lied shamelessly.

“That would be lovely,” Ned said, looking doe-eyed at Catelyn. “Cat, thank you so much for the flowers. I can’t tell you how much it means to me—her—I mean us.”

Catelyn finally met his gaze.

“Of course. Everybody’s been worried about you—“

“Especially Catelyn,” Cersei interjected.

“Yes,” Catelyn admitted softly. “Especially me.”

By the time they extracted to go find Lysa, the two were practically on the brink of proposing marriage. Cersei was so good at this.

“I can’t believe you got the number of the room wrong! It’s not even the right floor!” Catelyn chided somewhat unconvincingly.

“You know me, I’m such a ditz,” Cersei gave a sufficiently vacant laugh. “Here we go, Lysa Tully.”

For someone in the throes of a panic attack, Lysa was very cheerful.

“Petyr texted!” She announced. “He used a heart emoji! What do you think it means?”

While the Tully sisters attempted to decode this mysterious message, Cersei let her thoughts wander. 

Despite the fact that she hadn’t actually spent any of Val’s Day with her… boyfriend (even now her mind poked at the word doubtfully), this might be shaping up to be her best Val’s Day ever. She was Junior Queen, all her doing. Jaime was Junior King. Mostly her doing. She had ruined Lysa’s life and then unruined it and literally nobody was the wiser. She had fixed Catelyn’s life and Ned’s life and by extension Robert’s life. All while barely lifting a finger. Dance puppets. Dance.

It was also the first Val’s Day that she’d actually had a… boyfriend. She’d dumped that Kettlebeck around this time last year because she’d sensed things were getting rocky with Rhaegar and Elia and wanted to be available for the rebound. Of course Lyanna had ruined everything and the Kettlebeck had come scuttling back when she snapped her fingers a month later, but this time last year she had been single, however briefly. And she’d gotten bored of that worthless senior she’d dated freshman year long before February.

Well, she was prepared to concede that Robert wasn’t boring. Totally oblivious maybe. He hadn’t even noticed the sheets after he’d spent the night. And he’d woken her up to ask her to a professional football game. Moron. But waking up in his arms had been… nice. Even if he did drool in his sleep.

“Right Cersei?” Catelyn’s expectant face brought her back to reality.

“Hmmm?” Cersei tried to conceal the fact that she hadn’t been listening.

“We were going to grab a soda from the cantina before it closes,” Catelyn prodded her.

“Oh yes!” Cersei agreed emphatically. “I think it’s closing soon, we should get going.”

They headed back to the cantina, and Cersei sent a peremptory text to Ned telling him to get his butt down to the ground floor. He was actually jogging as he rounded the corner to join them in line and Cersei felt a wave of magnanimity wash over her.

“Oh gosh,” Cersei slapped her forehead. “I’m such a dunce. I forgot I have my standardized test tutor coming in an hour. Ned, I was going to treat Catelyn to a snack. You don’t mind getting it, do you? She just won Senior Queen, you know.”

“Of course not—that is if you don’t mind Catelyn?” Ned ducked his head shyly.

“I don’t mind,” Catelyn smiled.

“Great, it’s a date,” Cersei gave them a hard push toward the checkout line. She pretended to leave, then circled back after five minutes to make sure that nothing had gone wrong. Sure enough, the two were seated at a cantina table, heads bent together. Ned was smiling. Cersei snapped a quick picture on her phone and texted it to Robert.

_Happy Val’s Day XO_

~~~~

Thoros looked at the clock, convinced that it had temporarily stopped working. There was simply no explanation for how it could be moving so slowly. The other students in his homeroom were talking amongst themselves, but surely somebody else had notice that the clock was running slow? He looked over at Anguy, who was sitting next to him, mouth half-open and eyes glazed. Thoros thought he had been in the bathroom for a suspiciously long time. The baked expression confirmed his suspicion.

“Hey,” he poked Anguy back to reality. “Do you think the clock is slow? The time seems wrong, doesn’t it?”

“Time is a flat circle,” Anguy informed him calmly. Thoros sighed. He didn’t know why he bothered. Anguy had already drifted off again. He wondered if he should introduce him to Jaqen H’gar. The two seemed like they would get along.

Thoros raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Asshai?” Barristan Selmy asked through gritted teeth from the teacher’s desk. He too had been eyeing the clock.

“Can I go to the bathroom?” 

“Ooooh, me too!” Anguy chimed in. Thoros suppressed a groan.

“The two of you need to use the bathroom together?” Selmy asked skeptically. Anguy nodded with a beatific smile.

Selmy mumbled something about not getting paid enough for this and then waved them off.

Thoros set out for the third floor hallway.

“The bathrooms are this way,” Anguy interjected, tugging at his arm. “That’s the best place to get high.”

“I’m not getting high,” Thoros disentangled himself. 

“You never want to smoke anymore,” Anguy mumbled disappointedly. “How come?”

“I prefer my time to proceed linearly, thanks,” Thoros said drily. When Anguy didn’t smile, he slowed to a walk. “Hey, you should be glad I’m not hitting you up for any more free samples.” Truthfully, the only reason he had enjoyed smoking to begin with was because it killed time so very well. But after he had met Beric… well, his time started to seem more valuable. Anguy only rolled his eyes in response.

“Soon, I promise!” Thoros crossed his heart.

Then he was hurrying to the stairwell, not the elevator, stairs were faster, and he kind of had a thing about elevators ever since Gregor Clegane tried to kill him with one. Twice.

He nearly smacked into Stannis who was coming down and absolutely encrusted with dirt, even by Thoros’ notoriously lax standards of cleanliness.

“Where’s Beric?” Thoros demanded. Then he added, “What happened to you?” as an afterthought.

“Swapped the ballots,” Stannis answered curtly. “There was a mix up with the key. We had to go out through the crawlspace in the ceiling.”

“Where’s Beric?” Thoros repeated, then, “You and Robert went through the crawlspace? I’m surprised he fit.”

“Not me and Robert,” Stannis corrected. “Me and Beric.”

“Where. Is. Beric.” Thoros said for the third time, in the same voice that the red priests used when they warned about straying from the path of righteousness.

Stannis gulped.

“He’s in Jon Arryn’s office. He might have detention?”

Thoros winced. He wanted to shake Stannis and demand how he could have possibly let this happen. He had made sure Beric had the safest job for a reason! This is why Thoros wanted to do the ballot swap instead of Stannis. He’d thought about insisting but got nervous that if he tried to veto the straw pull, then Lannister would insist on doing it instead. Like he trusted that one-handed menace when Beric was involved.

Stannis, possibly sensing Thoros’ darkening mood, scrambled past him for freedom. Craven. No, Thoros shouldn’t have left Beric alone. Terrible things always happened when they were apart. This was on him. Well, it could be rectified. He wasn’t going to leave Beric to sit in detention on a Friday evening alone. Especially not on Val’s Day.

He marched right back to Barristan Selmy’s homeroom, keenly aware that if the ballots were already swapped, he had less than ten minutes before Robert read the results and school let out. Ten minutes to get detention.

“Hi Barry, I’m back,” Thoros sang in his most obnoxious voice. Some of the other seniors tittered.

Selmy scowled.

“Ten minutes before we let out for the weekend, Mr. Asshai. Until that time you will address me as Mr. Selmy.”

“Nah, I’m good Barry,” Thoros grinned.

“Do you want to be assigned detention?!” Selmy barked.

“Can’t get enough of me?” Thoros winked. Selmy was slowly turning purple. Undiagnosed heart condition?

“Strangely enough, you infuriating reprobate,” Selmy growled. “I have better things to do on my Friday evenings than watch you scratch your ass in a classroom for three hours.”

“I think Jon Arryn is running a detention tonight,” Thoros said hopefully.

“And that is why Jon Arryn is single,” Barristan Selmy muttered under his breath. Louder, he snapped, “Sit down and shut up, Mr. Asshai.”

Seriously?! Thoros had to up his game.

“Um actually, I left something in the bathroom, do you mind?”

“Go,” Selmy hissed.

Thoros actually ran to the men’s room. Anguy was in the last stall smoking. Thoros gave the door a hard kick and it gave.

“Harsh dude,” Anguy blinked up at him.

“Give me your joint, I’ll pay you later,” Thoros pulled it from his fingers.

“Hey! What?” Anguy protested but Thoros had already shut the stall door again.

He hurried back to the classroom, stopping to inhale deeply before he strolled in.

“Found it,” Thoros said cheerfully, and then gave a polite cough, expelling a puff from his throat.

The class roared with laughter.

“Are you serious?!” Selmy slammed his palms down on the desk.

“Oh,” Thoros blinked at the joint. “Did you want a hit Barry?”

“DETENTION!” Selmy shouted. “EVERY AFTERNOON FOR THE NEXT MONTH!”

Okay, he might have overshot the mark a bit.

“Were you raised by wolves?!” Selmy snarled.

“R’hllorites,” Thoros smiled.

Beric didn’t seem to find it nearly as funny when they were reunited. He had been talking on his phone, and Thoros knew it had been to one of his parents, because he had that tense unhappy anxious look that he got when they were angry at him.

“Surprise!” Thoros had hugged him, and Beric had rested his chin on Thoros’ head.

“What are you doing here? I got detention, my dad is flipping out. Let’s run away together.”

Thoros swallowed his unease that he might have maybe been responsible for getting Beric in trouble. He would find a way to make it up to him. 

“Perfect,” he said in response to Beric. “Just as soon as we do detention together.”

“You got detention?!” Beric pulled back from him. “How did you get detention for a Friday night in the last hour of school?”

“Technically,” Thoros coughed. “I got detention every night for the next thirty days in the last ten minutes of school.” 

“You did what?!” Beric goggled.

“Happy Val’s Day,” Thoros beamed.

“How is you getting detention every day for the next month a present to me?!” Beric tugged at his hair. 

“Well I only meant to get it for today,” Thoros admitted.

“I don’t want you getting in trouble just because I’m in trouble,” Beric frowned, looking even more unhappy than before. Ugh shit. How to cheer him up…

“But I couldn’t leave you in here alone on Val’s Day! Besides, your first detention? That’s something worth celebrating!”

“I am not celebrating a permanent blemish on my academic record,” Beric sulked.

“You should be,” Thoros grinned. “It makes you a rebel. Everybody knows chicks dig rebels.”

“I’m sure that will be very comforting to my parents.”

“I dig rebels too,” Thoros added with a wink. “You have the eye patch too,” Thoros rested his chin on his hand, studying Beric. Beric was fidgeting under his stare, starting to blush, which was of course only incentive to keep it up. “Total rebel. I’m glad you got rid of the motorcycle, that wouldn’t even be fair.”

“Stop it,” Beric made a show of opening his textbook. “I’m trying to study.”

“With a heart of gold. I’m getting very nervous,” Thoros teased. Beric ducked his head behind his book, but not before Thoros could see his cheeks turning a rosy red. Tee hee. Well now he wasn’t sad anymore. And it had given Thoros a great idea about how he could make it up to Beric and make it a Val’s Day to remember.

“If anything, I should be nervous,” Beric picked the thread up later when they were at the grocery store. “You might still change your mind and run off with Elia Martell.”

“How about mac and cheese?” Thoros asked, hefting a box. “She’s dating some guy named Arthur Dayne, according to Varys’ blog. I missed my window, and it’s all your fault. I hope you plan to make it up to me tonight.”

“We are not having orange cheese powder for dinner.” Beric said firmly, rolling his eye at the other accusation and ignoring the aggressive come-on. “I’m fairly sure you live on dry cereal and bar food. This is my one chance to make you eat something that didn’t come from a factory.”

“That sounds like it’ll take a long time,” Thoros sighed. “I was more excited for the non-dinner portion of the evening,” he added with what he thought was a fairly blatant leer. Beric had his heart set on cooking them some kind of fancy five-course meal. Only since his first attempt at a Val’s Day gift had been such a bust, Thoros was thinking more along the lines of certain after lights out activities that were overdue. But Beric had not been picking up on his hints.

“It won’t take more than two hours, including cooking. You can help chop,” Beric added magnanimously. “I’m thinking a gazpacho starter, a nice salad, steak with a side of creamed spinach and then desert. Unless you think we need a starch?”

“Two hours,” Thoros groaned. “I thought we could do a quick dinner and then... Netflix and chill?” He abandoned the leer for a voice that dripped with innuendo.

“We can watch Netflix after,” Beric promised absently. “Whatever show you want.”

Thoros ground his teeth.

“Are you bored? I’m sorry,” Beric frowned cutely in a way that made him impossible to be mad at even if he was JUST NOT GETTING IT. “Do you want to pick out our wine?”

“I’m probably not going to have anything, because the last time I suggested drinking during you got weird about it. But as long as you don’t think it’ll impact your performance...” Thoros said it so suggestively it was a wonder grandmothers an aisle over weren’t blushing.

“You’re not drinking?” Beric paused. He was processing the words. Thoros was waiting for it, the dawning recognition on Beric’s face as he finally got what Thoros was proposing. Instead, Beric walked over and laid a hand on his forehead.

“You’re not getting sick are you? You don’t feel warm, but maybe we should just do this some other...” Thoros grabbed his wrist.

“I am not sick. We are doing IT. Tonight.”

Beric blinked.

“Okay... I didn’t realize dinner meant so much to you. Maybe we should get a red wine anyway? Just in case?”

Thoros sighed and dropped his hand.

“Yeah I’ll get a Pinot.”

He grabbed the nicest one he could find. And one more thing.

Beric was already checking out, so Thoros got in line behind him and put up the divider. He could at least pay for the bottle of wine.

The cashier finished swiping Beric through and then looked at Thoros’ two items. She was a high schooler as well, probably at King’s Landing Public. She turned crimson.

“One bottle of red wine and one bottle of... lube,” she coughed. Behind her, Beric did a double take.

“Thanks,” Thoros smiled as he pulled out his wallet.

“She’s a lucky girl,” the cashier said, a little too flirtatiously. Beric glared at her.

“Oh, I’m the lucky one,” Thoros answered nonchalantly. He caught up with Beric and they started to walk back toward Beric’s car.

“You get everything? Gazpacho, salad, steak, starch, dessert?”

Beric cleared his throat.

“Maybe we just do the steak?”


	72. Jaim/Stan (V Day 8 of 9)

The sleigh ride had been a stroke of genius, if Jaime could say so himself. At the visitor’s lodge, they had been greeted by their driver, a somewhat grim young man named Edd. There were thick blankets for them to bundle themselves in and thermoses of steaming hot chocolate to clutch and then with a glance backward to make sure they were settled, Edd gave the reins a lazy twitch and the horses were off.

The wind brought a rosy flush to Brienne’s cheeks and whipped strands of her blond hair in every direction, while her bare shoulders gave Jaime an excuse to have his arm around her and be constantly fussing with the blankets to make sure she was comfortable. 

The winter wind was not especially fierce but quite cold, and Jaime enjoyed leaning in to Brienne’s ear to make sure she could hear him.

“I can’t believe you thought we were going to watch the Notebook for Val’s Day!” Jaime laughed. 

“Instead of race around the foothills in an open sleigh in sub zero temperatures?!” Brienne gave back, giving a defiant sip of hot cocoa.

“Don’t tell me you’re cold wench,” Jaime kissed her cheek. “I’ve got you so bundled up, your own grandmother wouldn’t recognize you.”

“A complete waste of my dress, Renly would say,” Brienne huffed.

“Renly’s a complete waste,” Jaime muttered under his breath.

“Are you jealous of an eight year old?!” Brienne opened her eyes wide in mock disbelief. Internally, Jaime beamed. To see Brienne come out of her shell and mock him mercilessly as she did in the past. It made him think she was reconciling herself to this whole Freshman Queen situation. Externally, Jaime scowled.

“He’s eight now, but the two of you cuddling on the couch watching reality television won’t be nearly as innocent in ten years when he looks like Robert.” 

“He’ll still be gay,” Brienne rolled her eyes. 

“Besides, it’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair?”

“He got you all to himself for the last three three years. I should get you all to myself for the next three. Why do I have to share?!” Jaime grinned.

“You’re ridiculous,” Brienne sighed.

“You love me,” Jaime said with a lazy arrogance practically designed to get under her skin. It was only after he laid the gambit that he realized they hadn’t actually broached this topic before. But Brienne only laid her head against his shoulder.

“Against my better judgment,” she said loftily, and Jaime felt like his heart might burst. That counted right? On Val’s Day? That totally counted.

“Besides, you’ll get to show off your dress tonight at the ballet,” Jaime promised. “All of the other boxes will have their opera glasses trained on you instead of the performance.”

“Right, they’ll be wondering why you brought a Yeti to the ballet,” Brienne rolled her eyes.

“I suppose I’m lucky that you seem to have a permanent blind spot when it comes to how gorgeous you are,” Jaime raised an eyebrow. “Otherwise you’d run off with some black haired blue eyed Stormlander.”

Brienne’s eyes softened.

“I’m never running off. You’re stuck with me, Lannister.”

The sleigh at that moment came to a lurching stop.

“Aye,” the driver, Edd, said conversationally. “That’s what we are. Stuck.”

“Stuck?” Jaime leaned to look over the side of the sleigh.

“Mud from the snow melt. We’ll have to get out and push.”

Brienne shot Jaime a look from her cocoon of blankets.

“Why don’t you and I see if we can get it going,” Jaime swallowed, trying not to think about what might happen if Brienne ruined her brand new shoes in the mud.

“We can try,” Edd swung down from his post doubtfully. “This is just my luck you know. It always happens to me.”

“And you still have a job?!” Jaime muttered under his breath.

“More’s the pity,” Edd said glumly. “Terrible work it is too. Snot nosed kids making out behind you, and you’re freezing cold and smelling of horse shit.”

Brienne had turned to look at him incredulously, as he and Jaime struggled to get the sleigh going again.

Finally, with an unpleasant sucking sound, the sleigh came free. The horses immediately began trotting off, bells ringing jauntily, forcing Jaime and Edd to run after them through the slush and mud. Jaime’s dress shoes, lacking the traction of Edd’s boots, promptly slid out from under him. He landed on his butt as Edd managed to get to the horses and bring them to a halt. 

Trying to salvage some of his dignity, Jaime stood upright and brushed himself off. Brienne was trying to swallow a belly laugh, her face turning vaguely purple with the effort. Jaime lifted his chin in the air and marched over to the sleigh before dropping himself down inside.

There was an audible squelching sound as the water in his shoes shifted. Brienne gave an undignified snort, retaining her composure by the barest thread.

“You’re stuck with me too, you know,” he informed her.

At that, the dam broke, and Brienne dissolved into a fit of giggles. Jaime conceded that the situation was more than faintly ridiculous, and decided they may as well make out. It wasn’t like their driver could get any more depressing than he was already.

“Jaime,” Brienne protested after the first kiss. “You’re get me all mudd—“ He cut her off with another kiss and further complaints were not forthcoming.

~~~~

Stannis took a deep breath and rang the buzzer outside Melisandre’s apartment.

They hadn’t been on many official dates since that disaster in November. Unofficial dates were just so much easier. You cuddled up with a movie and some popcorn? Date. You went to an exhibit at the Red Keep? Date. But if he had to take her out on an official date, and all of the articles he had read on the subject suggested that Val’s Day did require an official date, he would prefer to make a reservation at a great restaurant and entrust care of the evening to experts.

But no. Twenty dragons. What kind of dinner were you going to get for twenty dragons?

He rang the buzzer again. He had noticed that Melisandre never responded to the first ring.

Sure enough, the door opened. Melisandre smiled at him. She was wearing boots and a red dress and even though it was what she wore basically all the time, Stannis felt his breath catch.

“Here,” he thrust the flowers at her. Renly had helped him make the bouquet by raiding various neighbors’ greenhouses. Then Renly had cut up the sleeve of one of their mother’s dresses for a fabric bow. “I didn’t spend any money on it.”

He was aware that it sounded rude but he didn’t mean for it to be and Melisandre only laughed and took them and inhaled, and he wanted to inhale her because there was nobody in the world who understood him the way she did.

Instead he pulled out a thermos.

“Do you have some glasses?”

Melisandre got two glasses down from the cupboard.

He carefully poured the neon blue concoction into each.

“Jungle juice?” Melisandre raised an eyebrow.

“Robert made it from whatever was left in the fridge so it didn’t cost me anything,” Stannis informed her. Feeling that perhaps this refrain was not helpful in trying to establish the mood he was going for (all the articles stressed the importance of romance), Stannis pressed on. “Also... also it was what we were drinking the first time I ever wanted to kiss you.”

“Cheers,” Melisandre clinked their glasses and they each took a sip. Then she kissed him, and Stannis decided that jungle juice wasn’t so bad after all.

“So what’s next?” Melisandre asked, slightly smirking, slightly breathless, when the jungle juice was gone and they were half on the couch. “Are we going with my suggestion?”

“We’re getting dinner,” Stannis entwined their hands and tugged her to her feet.

“For twenty dragons?” She teased.

“Yes,” Stannis said smugly. He led her through the streets of High Hill, hoping she wouldn’t put it together. He had spent ages trying to figure out the dinner portion of the evening. Finally he came to a completely unremarkable pizzeria, notable only for its generous delivery zone.

“Here?” Melisandre asked amused. Stannis had to admit, it was a bit of a hole in the wall, certainly nowhere he would consider stopping if he weren’t tied to this ridiculous budget.

“Here,” he confirmed somewhat smugly. She didn’t have a clue.

He even ordered her order, sausage, pepperoni, bell peppers, extra cheese. It was a little quiet, a little grimy. On Val’s Day, everyone had somewhere better to be. Melisandre was puzzled, but trying to conceal it. Gods forbid she ever be caught not knowing something. A small part of him reveled in having finally taken her off guard.

“Alright,” she admitted, after they had served the pizza and Stannis had helped himself to a slice without saying a word. “I’ll bite,” she grinned at the pun and took a mouthful. “Why here?”

“This is what we were eating the first time I wanted to sleep with you,” Stannis said in a low voice. That made her blush. Melisandre who never blushed. Who could calmly and collectedly discuss her sex life and Stannis’ lack thereof and never stammer once. Truly a night of firsts.

“It took you that long?” She mumbled, but it was all she could do to keep the smile at bay.

The pizza was eighteen dragons. His budget blown, Stannis spent the last two on songs from the jukebox. The first from the Tom Sevens song that had played the first time they danced. He would have spent the second on one of Renly’s stupid Tyroshi love ballads, the ones from the playlist on that disastrous date, but naturally none of them were in the library. He gave Melisandre the pick instead. She picked a song seemingly at random, one that had been the song of the summer back in July. July, before he had ever met her. Odd that now he couldn’t imagine life without her. She grabbed his hands and pulled him up.

They were dancing in the aisle, and she laughed as he twirled her and then spun in against his chest, pressing her back against him.

“This was a Kinvara song,” Melisandre told him cheekily. “I’m reclaiming it.”

Stannis had to smirk at her pleased expression.

“Congratulations on a battle won then,” he gave her a slight bow.

“Oh the battle isn’t won yet,” Melisandre said with serene confidence. “But it will be. Very soon.”

He got the distinct impression that she was talking about something more than the song.

They finished their pizza and walked back to the apartment.

“My turn?” Melisandre asked mischievously. 

“Not quite yet,” Stannis tapped her on the nose. “I want to drive out to Lookout Point again.”

“You realize we don’t have to go all the way out there every time you want to have sex,” Melisandre teased him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Come upstairs.”

“Not yet,” Stannis gently pulled her toward the old Saab. “It’s only half an hour from here, and you said I had until eleven.”

“I did,” she admitted, and he opened the door for her with a flourish.

The drive took less time because they were already on the outskirts of town, or maybe it was just that the feel of Melisandre’s head on his shoulder made time slip by unnoticed.

Then they were there, and in the crisp winter air the sky was impossibly starry, an endless curtain of darkness punctuated by a million pinpricks of light. Beneath them came the dull crash of wave after wave breaking on the rocks below.

“I know this one,” Melisandre shifted in his arms and looked up at him slyly. 

“I don’t think so,” Stannis said softly. She lifted her head. He took her hands and gulped.

“This is where... this is where we were the first time I wanted to tell you I love you.”

“Yeah?” Melisandre tilted her head. Her face was impassive. Shit. Well, it’s not like he could pull that one back.

“Yeah,” Stannis clenched his jaw.

“You know that doesn’t actually count as saying it?” A hint of a smile. He nearly melted in relief.

“I love you,” he said instead.

“I love you too,” she said, and there was nothing else to say.


	73. Ber/Mel (V Day 9 of 9)

Beric’s nose was buried in Thoros’ tangled auburn locks, his chest pressed flush against his boyfriend’s back as they both tried to catch their breath. Thoros smelled of woodsmoke and sweat and alcohol, and Beric wrapped his arm around him to pull him even closer.

This close he could trace the constellation of freckles against Thoros’ pale skin. Could see the beginnings of a bruise blossoming on his collarbone where Beric’s mouth had been. Could feel his chest rise with every panted breath and each exhale tickle his forearm.

Somehow, when he was with Thoros, everything else just… faded to white noise. His stupid argument with his dad. The fact that he had been grounded for getting one measly detention for the first time in his entire life, and his parents weren’t even there, they just expected to snap their fingers and have him ask for how long. 

He had Thoros, and they would keep each other safe. Beric looked at their legs, jumbled together, how he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Thoros shivered slightly, the movement the merest tremor in his arms.

Beric took that as his cue to finally let go, thought they had spent themselves minutes earlier. Thoros rolled on his back and smiled sleepily up at him, normally clear blue eyes cloudy with sated lust.

“Are you okay?” Thoros asked, and Beric smiled fondly at him, at the absurdity of Thoros asking him that instead of the other way around.

“Better than okay. I’m just getting you a blanket. You’re cold.”

He walked over to his closet and opened the door. He avoided the full length mirror automatically, as he always did when he was not wearing his shirt. He didn’t need to see his too-skinny frame, the skin drawn taut and warped by scars. Funny to think he had been good-looking once. Funnier still to think that he would not trade what he had now for what he had then, not for all the money in King’s Landing. 

He looked up at the sheets and comforters and then caught sight of his childhood blanket and had to grin. He tugged it down and brought it back to the bed, the ragged black wool and silver stars exactly as he remembered them. 

“What’s this?” Thoros lifted his head slightly, as Beric spread it over him and then carefully wrapped him up in it. 

“It’s my blank—my blanket from when I was little.”

“…You were going to say blankie weren’t you.”

“No,” Beric lied. All the same, it looked right draped around Thoros’ shoulders. He nuzzled into the crook of Thoros’ neck and kissed his poor abused collarbone again. “Mine,” he whispered against the dark red skin.

“Yours?” Thoros repeated drily. Beric flushed as he looked up, but met Thoros’ amused gaze with a defiant one of his own. “Yours,” Thoros mumbled again, and snuggled deeper into the blanket, closing his eyes.

“And I’m yours,” Beric told him, reaching to play with his hair again. Instead, he managed to zap him with a spark of static electricity.

“Hey,” Thoros opened one eye in irritation. “Cut it out Lightning Lord.” 

“It’s the wool from the blank—“ Beric started but he hadn’t even finished the thought before both Thoros’ eyes opened at once and he struggled into a sitting position.

“What’s up?” Beric questioned.

“I just… I just remembered something I saw once,” Thoros looked down at him.

“What was it?” Beric tilted his head.

“You I guess,” Thoros scrunched his face like he was making a joke that Beric didn’t quite get. “I’m grabbing the wine, I’ll be back in a sec.”

He was, and then he pulled the blanket around both of them as they passed the bottle back and forth between them, only laughing when their fingers brushed and Beric shocked him again.

“So we’re basically married now, right?” Thoros teased playfully. “Isn’t that how you Westerosi do your ceremonies? You drape your cloak around the other person?”

“Usually the participants are wearing more clothing,” Beric smiled back.

“Well where’s the fun in that?”

“How do you get married in your temple?” Beric asked curiously.

“You hold hands and jump over a fire together,” Thoros said. “I mean the priest says some bits too, but the fire jump’s the important part.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Beric raised his eyebrows.

“So’s marriage,” Thoros snickered. “That’s okay, I’m happy to wear your blankie with honor my lord.”

“It’s not my blankie,” Beric mock glared at him. “And if you keep calling it such, I shan’t share it.”

“You’d let me freeze to death?” Thoros put his hand on his heart. Beric pretended to weigh the question.

“Never. I’d keep you warm other ways,” he finally allowed. 

Thoros laughed and drained the bottle with a long swig. He put it down on the bedside table and then lay down again, dragging Beric down beside him.

“Maybe tomorrow morning,” Thoros offered, already half asleep. 

Beric envied him slightly, his ability to drop off as soon as his head hit the pillow. The sleep of the innocent, he would have told him if he were still awake. And then Thoros would have objected in strenuous terms to that descriptor. Beric curled around his priest again, and waited for slumber to take them both.

~~~~

Melisandre got home to her empty apartment, made her way to her bedroom, and then collapsed dramatically back on her bed with a huge smile across her face. She was practically hugging herself, because Stannis was so Stannis, there was no other word for it, and he loved her and she loved him and that’s all there was to it.

She had to pull herself together though, because it was almost eleven and she hadn’t put so much time into laying the perfect trap for Kinvara just to wuss out on pulling the trigger because she was in love.

Melisandre sat up again and went to the bathroom. She brushed her hair out, until the waves of dark red fell straight down on her shoulders like a silky curtain. Her features had settled, calm, emotionless. In the reflection, only her eyes burned in her pale face, and when Melisandre smiled, her reflection gave a cold and superior smile back.

She changed into the dress she’d been wearing when Kinvara kissed her for the first time, a dress she hadn’t warn since that day at the swing set. Songs weren’t the only thing she was reclaiming tonight. It was utterly inappropriate for winter, but Melisandre didn’t get cold. How could she, when hatred kept her so warm?

She pulled out the burner phone. She had a missed text—

_See you soon!_

Melisandre looked down, her lip curling in a faint sneer.

_Wouldn’t miss it!_ She tapped out, and wasn’t that the truth.

She lifted the backpack full of the real ballots that she had claimed from Stannis earlier that day after school. She dumped out the sophomore boxes, and picked a few of the folded votes to make her point.

Then she went downstairs, and started walking briskly through High Hill to get to the chic Lysene restaurant that Kinvara thought she was meeting Edmure Tully outside.

Kinvara was early, wearing a tight black skirt and an even tighter black top that offered a generous view of the tops of her breasts. Her wavy black hair was curled and tumbled free around her shoulders and she was wearing heavy makeup. She was looking up and down the street for Edmure, a cigarette dangling in one hand. She was smoking to hide her nerves, Melisandre thought, and because she had some asinine idea that it made her look sophisticated. That had been one habit that Melisandre never could abide.

Her parents, who no doubt thought she was asleep in bed, would be horrified to see their precious only child, their baby girl like this. Melisandre narrowed her eyes. This really was too easy. The only question was what she had ever been thinking to begin with.

“You’re not wearing your red,” Melisandre smirked, her voice low. Kinvara looked up with a start, saw who it was, and scowled.

“Does your boyfriend know you’re stalking me, creep?”

“Speaking of boyfriends,” Melisandre purred. “I wonder where yours could be.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kinvara snapped.

“I think you do,” Melisandre tilted her head. “Such a shame you couldn’t be on royal court with him. Edmure Tully and Lynesse Hightower? That doesn’t have nearly the same ring to it.”

Kinvara’s pouty lips twisted in rage, but she was clearly torn between anger at the insult and interest in what Melisandre knew about Edmure.

“Disappointed, was he?” Melisandre grinned.

“What’s it to you?” Kinvara took a step closer. She was trying to be threatening, Melisandre surmised. Melisandre felt a tendril of cold anger curling around her heart, itching to put that cigarette out on her pretty vapid little face. Instead, she reached into her purse and unfolded the first paper.

“Regina Ambrose, Edmure Tully and Kinvara Volant.” She tore the vote up into little pieces. Kinvara was frowning at it, the wheels slowly turning.

“Thom Bar Emmon, Edmure Tully and Kinvara Volant.” She saw the dawning horror on Kinvara’s features, the partly open mouth as she destroyed the paper.

“Ellyn Beesbury, Edmure Tully and Kinvara—“

“NO!” Kinvara made a grab for the paper as Melisandre crushed it in her hand. “You… you BITCH!” She spat the word, turning on Melisandre with fury illuminating her gaze. “You’re trying to keep us apart! This is some stupid desperate ploy! You think if you can’t have me, nobody can, you’re pathetic!”

Melisandre watched her silently, lips curved in a slight smile.

“You crazy whore! You think you can keep us apart?! You think that messing up that election accomplishes anything?! Edmure loves me! I don’t need that crown, Lynesse Hightower can choke on it. And you! You psycho! You think you’re untouchable just because you have a rich boyfriend?! I’ll show you. I will destroy you! You’ll have to leave this city, no this continent to find somebody who doesn’t think you’re a goddamn SLUT!”

Kinvara was nearly spitting at those last words, and she extinguished her cigarette with a vicious stomp of her boot.

“Crazy?” Melisandre blinked slowly. “What’s truly crazy is that you still think Edmure Tully is coming.”

Kinvara stared at her.

“No,” she breathed. “What did you do, I’ll KILL YOU!” She shrieked the last words, and people on the sidewalk were turning to stare. Inside the restaurant, patrons were looking over.

“Oh Kinvara,” Melisandre shook her head pityingly. “Edmure Tully was never coming.” And then she flipped open the burner phone and pressed a button. Kinvara’s phone started to ring and she looked down at the number in horror.

“BITCH!” She screamed, and spiked the phone. The screen cracked, Melisandre noticed with some pleasure. “You just wait until Monday, you’re going to wish you were dead!”

“You keep saying that,” Melisandre mused. “But I don’t think you’re thinking this through. That is, unless you wanted Varys to post this picture of you in a lacy thong?” She held up the phone tauntingly. “Or maybe this screenshot where you say you’re wet and want to play?”

Kinvara opened her mouth, but nothing came out. 

“I do love this photo,” Melisandre said almost dreamily. “I can’t tell—are you wearing anything at all?”

And then, right on clockwork, two of the patrons of the Lysene restaurant paid their check and stepped outside.

“Kin-Kinvara?!” Mrs. Volant gasped, taking in the sight of her daughter breaking curfew and dressed as a sidewalk hooker no less. 

“Mummy!” Kinvara blurted, eyes rolling like a frightened animal as she tried to come up with some sort of explanation.

“What are you wearing?!” Her father snapped. “I can practically see your ass!”

“What are you even doing outside and at this hour?” Her mother pointed at her accusingly. “You’re breaking curfew and half a dozen other rules besides!”

Melisandre turned and started to drift down the road, leaving Kinvara with her furious parents.

“YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS YOU FUCKING BITCH!” Kinvara screamed after her. “IF IT’S THE LAST THING I DO!”

Melisandre did not bother to turn. Instead she breathed in deeply, savoring this moment. She almost hoped Kinvara tried.


	74. Beric (Hangover in Myr 1 of 11)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for something completely different! I realize that most people read this story for adorable fluff and high school drama, and this arc doesn't have much of either. Or much Brienne/Jaime. Or much Mel/Stannis. (I would characterize their chapters as more vignettes than plots.) What this arc does have is a very silly homage to the movie The Hangover. I hope it's funny enough to make up for the randomness of the arc, and if it's not... well just remember how much fluff I gave you last arc and how you are morally obligated to forgive me :D

Beric woke groggily, the sensation dawning on him slowly. It was very bright in their room. What time was it? It was their last full day before they went home to King’s Landing, so they shouldn’t lose too much time lounging in bed. He had also discovered, by trial and error, that he had a better shot of getting Thoros to take him to whatever museum was on his list for the day if he got him out of the hotel before Robert woke up.

All those months ago, when Beric had finally come up with his brilliant idea for a birthday present, it had occurred to him that Robert’s idea of spring break in Myr might be different than Beric’s idea of spring break in Myr. That Robert might be less interested in Myr’s famous glass museum, or the open lace market that spanned five city blocks, or even the sparkling beaches where women did sunbathe topless. But Beric had somewhat optimistically assumed that by expanding the party to six, they would be diluting Robert’s natural propensity for trouble.

And it worked. Sort of. 

Within three days, Beric had mentally divided the group into the forces of order and the forces of chaos. Ned Stark was the general of the forces of good and light, and responsible for most of their daytime victories. He wanted to spend his spring break reading on the beach, and Beric and Mace Tyrell fully supported him in that goal. In exchange, they dragged their group of six to some of the many fine cultural institutions that Myr offered for Beric and the very best restaurants for Mace. 

Robert was the general of the forces of darkness. All he wanted to do was get into drunken fights over women, and with Thoros supplying the drinks and Oberyn supplying the women, it was a miracle that the six of them were still alive. The number of night clubs they had been ejected from… Beric winced.

If that wasn’t enough, Oberyn, it turned out, had a budding interest in pharmacology and was hell-bent on discovering the cure for the hangover. He had been pounding and crushing mysterious substances in their bathroom the entire week and forcing them to drink, swallow and snort all manner of concoctions in an attempt to stave off the side effects of Thoros’ hard work. This had produced mixed results, most memorably when Ned had a vivid hallucination that the walls of their suite were melting and frantically fought his way out onto the balcony, where he’d dove into the public pool one floor below buck naked.

Thoros, as the only member of the group who spoke Valyrian, had had to do some serious work to smooth that one over.

But Beric had to admit, whatever Oberyn had fed them last night seemed to have had an effect. He didn’t feel hungover at all. He felt quite chipper actually. And they had been drinking last night. Hadn’t they? Beric searched the recesses of his memory uncertainly. It was almost a moot point. They’d been drinking EVERY night. He must have just blacked out. Well, at least he had somebody to make sure he got home, Beric thought with a smile.

He rolled onto his side to look at Thoros, with whom he was naturally sharing a room. And froze. There, eyes closed and inches from his face, was Oberyn Martell.

Beric gulped.

Oberyn?! In Beric’s bed?!

He frantically rifled back through the events of last night, trying to imagine what demented series of circumstances would have led to this result. He would never cheat on Thoros. He loved Thoros. Fuck, why couldn’t he remember anything?!

Oberyn who was almost absurdly good-looking, with his olive skin and black hair and black eyes, who would sleep with anything that moved. Oberyn who knew Beric was gay and probably suspected he was with Thoros. Beric wanted to scream. But that might wake Oberyn.

What to do, what to do, what to do. Beric ran a hand through his hair, trying to take deep breaths. He needed a cold shower. Then he had to find Thoros, and explain what had happened. Or what he thought might have happened. Since you know, he couldn’t fucking remember anything.

Beric cautiously rolled onto his other side, prepared to make a break for the far end of the bed. He nearly jumped out of his skin. Thoros was lying directly to his right, his now slightly overgrown hair flopping into his eyes.

What had happened last night?!

Had they had a threesome? Beric took a peek under the sheets. Thoros was wearing his boxers, Beric noticed with some relief. He twisted his head. Oberyn was completely naked. Ugh, this could go either way. He looked down. He was wearing his jeans, his belt and his socks. Huh. So either they’d had a threesome and then Beric had proceeded to partially dress himself, or Oberyn and Thoros had had sex and then Beric had just come in, totally obliterated, and passed out between them. Both of these seemed highly dubious, but that didn’t explain why Beric couldn’t remember a damn thing.

He rolled back to the Thoros side, since he found being inches from sleeping Thoros less disconcerting than being inches from sleeping Oberyn. Naked sleeping Oberyn, Beric silently amended.

From behind Thoros, someone gave a snuffly snore. 

Beric froze.

There was a fourth person in bed with them. He took a deep breath and then cautiously peeked over Thoros’ shoulder.

Robert, lying face down in the pillow, let out another, louder snore.

Oh for fuck’s sake. Beric let out a slow breath. Maybe he could remember absolutely nothing from the night before, but it didn’t matter. No matter how drunk they were, they absolutely did not have an orgy with Oberyn Martell and Robert Baratheon. Beric struggled up to a sitting position. The enormous plasma television that hung on the wall at the foot of their bed had been shattered and was now hanging by one corner, sparking ominously.

He really needed that cold shower.

Okay, how to get to the bathroom. Beric weighed his options. He would have to crawl over both Thoros and Robert to get out to the left, and only Oberyn to get out to the right. On the other hand, both Thoros and Robert appeared to be somewhat clothed and under the sheet, whereas Oberyn was emphatically not.

Beric blushed. He could understand why Ellaria Sand was in such a good mood all the time.

To the left it was then. Holding his breath, he put one hand and foot down carefully between Thoros’ legs and then swung his other limbs over Robert and off the bed.

Only to put his foot down hard on something soft and squishy. With a yelp, Beric lost his balance, landed on Robert’s back and then rolled off the bed to land on Mace Tyrell’s front.

“Sorry Mace,” he whispered, as he quickly stood up and brushed himself off.

“S’fine,” Mace mumbled, his eyes barely flickering open before they closed again. Robert hadn’t even stopped snoring.

Why Mace Tyrell had decided to construct a nest of couch pillows at the base of one side of the bed and sleep there instead of in the perfectly lovely room he shared with Oberyn was a question for after Beric’s shower. Beric put it a distant third after why Oberyn Martell and Robert Baratheon were literally asleep in their bed.

Beric dragged himself out the door, head down, intending on going straight through the common room to the bathroom. He got two steps across the room and then froze. 

A mouse had scurried across his foot and then vanished under a cabinet. Beric warily lifted his head.

It looked like some kind of bomb had detonated in the suite. A bomb of glass and beer cans and… was that a pair of women’s panties hanging from the partially destroyed chandelier? Colored beads were rolling across the floor, another mouse was sniffing at a crushed pizza slice that was staining the white shag carpet a bloody marinara. What was up with the mice?

Beric stumbled into the bathroom and straight into the shower stall. He disrobed mechanically, and then let the frigid water pound some sense into him.

What was the last thing he remembered? Okay, they all knew they had a flight early Sunday morning. So Friday night was their last night they could go hard, and Robert had been determined that it would top all previous nights. Thoros had suggested a club that was a little divier than what they had been going to, but it was in the neighborhood his family had lived in during their second stint in Myr, when Thoros was thirteen. 

“I can show you the bathroom stall where I lost my virginity,” he’d said to Beric and winked. And Beric had blushed and nodded stupidly, as Robert and Oberyn readily gave their assent. Mace and Ned had looked at Beric accusingly, but it was the closest thing Thoros had to a home! How could he say no?

“There’s some gang presence, some Dothraki around, but just be careful,” Thoros had told the group, half shrugging. As if street gangs and Dothraki screamers were acceptable risks for a Friday on the town. So Beric had gulped and smiled, and tried to ignore the glare that Ned was shooting him.

Ned. He should find Ned. Ned had always been the sensible one. He drank the least and ever since the skinny dipping incident, he’d been steadfastly refusing Oberyn’s hangover “remedies”. Ned would remember what had gone on that night, and might have some ideas as to how they could get out of Myr before the Magister’s Suites discovered what they had done to this hotel room.

Beric toweled off. He hated to put back on the sweaty and heavily stained clothes he’d been wearing apparently the entire night. And he had little interest in venturing back to whatever group powwow was happening in his room. With a sigh, he tied the towel around his waist. He’d find clean clothes later. First, he was going to find Ned.

He carefully walked barefoot across the common room, taking care not to tread on the shards of glass or many plastic beads. The wood paneled floor was sticky against his skin. Dried beer, Beric presumed, and his nose crinkled in disgust.

The first stop was obviously Robert and Ned’s room. They had claimed the master suite—normally Beric might have objected that it was Thoros’ birthday present, but as it was Robert’s credit card, that seemed like a losing argument.

He quietly turned the doorknob and opened the door.

A miniature wave of water crashed against his ankles. Beric rubbed his eyes. The entire room was completely flooded with several inches of water. Somewhere from the master bathroom, he could hear the tap still flowing. Frantically he sloshed across the room, and struggled to get the bathroom door open against the water he had to dislodge to swing it out. The bathroom was even worse, although at least it was tile not carpet. He turned off the sink faucet quickly, discovering that the sink had been stopped up with a bloody towel.

Okay?

He tried not to think about the thousands of dollars it would cost to recarpet this floor. How closely did Steffon and Cassana Baratheon go through Robert’s bank statements? Maybe they could sell the Bugatti and pay the hotel off the books? Would Steffon and Cassana notice that their eldest son no longer drove the world’s most obnoxiously stylized sports car?

He sloshed back through the master bedroom. Even the bed was sopping wet. Well, at least he had solved the mystery of why Robert and Ned weren’t in their bedroom. Ned had probably gone to Oberyn and Mace’s room, seeing as it was currently unoccupied by the rightful users.

Beric was fed up and done with tiptoeing around. He marched back across the common room, scattering beads and mice in his wake. He flung the door to Oberyn and Mace’s room open with a slam and was five feet in the door before he froze.

From across the room, an elephant looked up. 

Beric stared dully at it, his brain struggling to comprehend what he was seeing. The elephant glared back with beady little eyes. Then it raised its trunk and trumpeted threateningly. The sound broke Beric from his trance. 

He raced out of the room, aware that behind him, thundering steps were shaking the room. He threw the door shut again, and the entire suite shook as something collided with the wall on the other side. Another angry trumpet. Beric shivered. He realized at some point he had dropped his towel, but that seemed a little beside the point.

With a feeling of sinking doom, he marched back to the group bedroom. He had solved the mystery of why Robert was sleeping in his room. He had solved the mystery of why Mace and Oberyn were sleeping in his room. But every question he answered left new and more unpleasant questions in its wake.

Why couldn’t he remember anything? How had they destroyed the suite? Why and how an elephant?! And where the hell was Ned???


	75. Mace (Hangover in Myr 2 of 11)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy seventy-fifth anniversary everybody! We made it! I wish I could come up with a more creative or funny way to say how much your support has meant to me and how much it has encouraged me to keep plugging away. Just know that it's made a world of difference :) Our stalwart reviewers for chapters 50-75 are: Mog, Imber, theworldunseen, Yokotoyama, Team Gwenee, thedistressedgoddess, MetaCapricorn, tinkerbelle320, SydneyLouWho, Snowberry, AlsoSprachVelociraptor, VickyPerkins, Guest, J, conflicted admirer, Wylie, loser cafe, oathkceper and Gondalala! Thank you so so much! Now on to our story...

“Elephant!” Somebody was yelling. “There’s an elephant in the other room!”

Mace buried his head further into the cushion he was lying on. People were terribly rude. Didn’t they realize he was sleeping?

Not to mention, he was horribly hungover. Mace paused in this thought. Actually, he wasn’t. He felt great. Better than he had all week.

Mace liked to drink as much as the next fellow, but Thoros Asshai appeared to have a liver of steel. And if Robert wasn’t quite as steady in his cups, it wasn’t for a lack of trying. Between the two of them, they seemed committed to drinking Myr dry, and Oberyn Martell just egged them on.

He reminded himself that he was lucky to even be invited on this trip, and that literally every other guy in their grade would have killed to be included. He harbored no delusions—he knew Robert had been sore at him ever since he’d picked Rhaegar after the Spring Fling fiasco last year. Well fine, he’d picked wrong and didn’t he know it. Rhaegar was dead, Robert was alive, and Mace was screwed. This trip was his chance at redemption, to be back among the first tier at Center Table, and if meant begging his mother on both knees for the corporate jet—well, his mother had seen him make of a fool of himself for less.

So for the most part, Mace had bit his tongue and tried to be a good sport about it all. Ned Stark and Beric Dondarrion were all right. Although now that he thought about it, the person shouting sounded suspiciously like Beric.

“Fuck OFF, Dondarrion,” Robert growled from somewhere above him, voice snarly with sleep. Above him? Was Mace sleeping on the floor?

Mace lifted his head and discovered that he was in fact sleeping on the floor. Well, on some couch cushions on the floor.

“There is an elephant in Mace and Oberyn’s room!” Beric snapped back.

What?

Mace sat up.

He immediately wished he hadn’t. Beric was not wearing any clothing, and he was now eye level with the Stormlander’s… lightning bolt? Mace shielded his eyes.

“Put some clothes on,” he said mildly. 

“Mace, there’s an elephant in your room, and the suite is destroyed, and I can’t find Ned anywhere,” Beric started babbling.

“Ned?” Robert bolted upright. “What happened to Ned?!”

“I don’t know!” Beric nearly wailed.

Mace stared. Robert looked… rough. One eye was swollen shut and he had a smear of blood on his mouth.

“Are you okay?” He asked slowly.

“I feel great,” Robert said cheerfully. “Oberyn must be honing in on that hangover cure.” He grinned. He was missing a tooth.

“You look…” Mace trailed off. Beric had also noticed and gulped.

“Robert, you might have been in a fight last night.” 

“Fuck yeah!” Robert pumped a fist. “Did I win? I don’t remember shit.”

“Maybe you should go to the bathroom and freshen up,” Mace suggested.

“Don’t go in Mace’s room,” Beric added. “There’s an elephant.”

“Beric, lie down, you’re still drunk. I’m going to take a piss and find Ned,” Robert said authoritatively. Mace closed his eyes as Beric climbed back over him into bed.

He sat quietly and tried to collect his thoughts.

“I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming,” Beric was chanting softly.

There was a howl of alarm from the bathroom. 

“I’m missing a tooth!” Robert screamed.

“Just a dream, just a dream,” Beric repeated.

Mace decided it was time to go to his own room. He got up and gingerly made his way across the common room to his room. He wondered why he hadn’t gone to bed there last night. Maybe Oberyn had brought a girl home. Or two. It wouldn’t be the first time. He opened the door.

“Holy shit,” Robert breathed behind him. The elephant trumpeted. Mace slammed the door. They looked at each other. Mace thought about pointing out that this really put the whole Rhaegar thing into perspective. 

“I’m missing a tooth,” Robert moaned.

“There’s an elephant in my bedroom,” Mace whispered.

“I think we should all get breakfast,” Robert said finally. Mace’s stomach growled. Not a bad idea.

That of course meant waking the last two surviving members of their party. Mace might have politely poked them with a shoe until they responded. Instead, Robert grabbed a towel, soaked it in the pond that his room had apparently become, and twisted it into a rat’s tail. 

“Wake up assholes!” He shouted, landing a good smack across Oberyn’s chest. In a weirdly intense reaction, Oberyn jumped half way across the bed, landing on Thoros.

“Ber—AHHH!” Thoros opened his eyes and yelled. Oberyn looked down and winced, before rolling off. Beric was still curled in a fetal position.

“Did we um… do something?” Oberyn ran a hand through his hair. 

Thoros was mumbling gibberish in Valyrian.

“So while this is unfortunate, I’m sure Beric will understand,” Oberyn began, then realized that they had an audience. “Um, we’ll talk later,” he tentatively patted Thoros on the head.

“Everybody, get up!” Robert roared in his football captain voice. Mace, who had endured four years of his tyranny, and Beric, who had put up with three years of the same, were on their feet before the echo died.

Oberyn rolled on his back lazily, flashing all of them. Thoros had pulled the sheet up to his chin and was staring wide eyed at the room.

“You all have fifteen minutes to meet me downstairs for breakfast,” Robert growled. He cracked the towel again like a whip. Beric whimpered.

“Beric, Oberyn, put some fucking clothes on. I find it very odd that I have to even ask. Are there any questions?”  
“Are you missing a tooth?” Thoros said his first words in Common Tongue of the morning. 

Mace and his very nude roommate were slightly hampered in their ability to get dressed for the day because there was a zoo animal in their room. They decided, being the approximate sizes of Robert and Thoros, to raid their clothes instead.

“It’s just I don’t really like redheads,” Oberyn was explaining, standing ankle deep in water.

Mace was sifting through Robert’s gym clothes and smelling them for the least offensive option. 

“I know he had a thing for my sister. Does that make it less weird? I wouldn’t have said we look that much alike.”

Mace decided to go with the white t-shirt, and a pair of green board shorts. The t-shirt was tight on him. Shit. His mother had made her opinion on his need for a diet excruciatingly clear.

“I have to talk to Beric. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to fight me already. You know those Stormlanders and their fighting. Such a terribly overdeveloped sense of honor. Live and let live, I say. Fuck and let fuck,” Oberyn trailed Mace back into Thoros and Beric’s room, still talking as Mace began inspecting Thoros’ suitcase.

For Oberyn, Mace selected Thoros’ jeans and what looked like it had been a white t-shirt but was now a pale pink. Oberyn put them on uncomplainingly. Mace gritted his teeth. The shirt at least should have looked baggy on Oberyn as he was narrower in the shoulders than Thoros. But no. As with all things, Oberyn managed to look effortlessly stylish.

“I just wish I could remember what happened,” Oberyn shook his head, pulling the jeans up. “At least I don’t have a hangover. I must be getting closer to the cure. How do you feel?”

“Great,” Mace admitted. Oberyn, who had somehow managed to keep his aviators on his head through an entire night’s sleep during which he had lost every other article of clothing, flipped his shades down onto his nose.

“Then let’s go.”

They were the last ones down to breakfast. Well, except Ned of course. Beric was watching in horrified fascination as Robert consumed a dozen hard boiled eggs, one after another.

“Oh good, you’re here,” Robert said. He cut a pancake in half and consumed the left half by folding into his mouth. “First things first, what’s the last thing everyone remembers?”

There was a pause. Robert rolled the right half of his pancake into a tube and shoveled that down his gullet at well. Mace’s mother would be having a fit right now if she could see his table manners.

“We went to that club,” Mace began uncertainly. He remembered getting into the taxi for sure. They’d had a wonderful dinner that made him regret that they were going home at all. And regret that his belt didn’t have any more notches to loosen. Did he remember actually getting to the club?

“Was there some kind of special event at the club?” Thoros screwed his face up.

“That sounds right,” Robert said half-heartedly, swallowing an entire slice of buttered toast in one gulp. 

“There was definitely a girl,” Oberyn put in. They all looked at him and rolled their eyes. With Oberyn there was always a girl.

“But nobody can remember anything after arriving at the club,” Beric massaged his temples. “Did we get roofied?”

“Who would want to roofie all five of us?” Robert asked bewildered. He took an enormous swig of orange juice directly out of the pitcher.

“Me,” Oberyn said guiltily. They all turned to look at him. “Not like that!” He snapped. “I just meant... look are any of you hungover?”

They all shook their heads.

“I just think I might have finally gotten it! The cure to the hangover! And it had, um, some side effects?”

Mace’s eyes bulged. Side effects?!

“We’re missing the last twelve hours of our lives!” Beric snapped, clearly in the same camp.

“We’ve lost Ned!” Robert slammed his fist on the table, making all the cutlery rattle. Everyone in the restaurant turned to look at them. Thoros said something in Valyrian and then they went back to eating.

“Okay, phones out,” Robert growled. “Somebody must have a text from Ned.”

Mace glanced at his phone. He had twelve or fourteen texts on the group thread.

11:01 PM (Robert) _Where’s Ned?_

11:13 PM (Robert) _I’m going to go find Ned, keep an eye on Oberyn, he’s got this chick locked up._

11:48 PM (Oberyn) _Where the fuck is Robert? I need a condom_

“I told you there was a girl,” Oberyn said smugly.

2:05 AM (Thoros) _Hey, where’d everybody go_

2:05 AM (Beric) _I’m waving at you_

2:06 AM (Thoros) _I’m waving back!_

2:06 AM (Beric) _I lost everybody else_

2:06 AM (Thoros) _So about that bathroom stall…_

4:10 AM (Beric) _It’s so loud in here I can’t hear what you’re saying. Did you just get a call from Mace?_

4:12 AM (Thoros) _EVERYBODY CHECK YOUR VOICEMAILS NOW THIS IS A CODE RED_

4:15 AM (Robert) _Hang on Mace, I’m coming_

4:27 AM (Oberyn) _You shits better not start without me I will be there as soon as I find my underwear_

4:29 AM (Oberyn) _Fuck the underwear, I’M ON MY WAY MACE_

5:05 AM (Robert) _SCREW YOU NED THIS IS AMAZING_

“Damn Mace, you had a code red?” Oberyn raised his eyebrows. “What happened?”

“If I remembered, I could tell you,” Mace growled. He checked his call log. He’d called all five of his friends repeatedly. There was also a message from the corporate jet people, confirming that he had moved his reservation from Sunday morning to Saturday night. Weird. “Does anybody still have my voicemail?”

Head shakes in the negative all around. And then Beric froze, head bent over his screen.

“Mace,” he squeaked. “I might have something better. Or worse?”

“What?” Mace stared, running his hand through his curly brown hair that he was convinced was getting thinner by the day. This was not helping matters. 

“Photos,” Beric gulped, and shoved his phone over to Mace. Mace looked down, Robert and Oberyn crowding in to look over his shoulder.

He was in a tux. He was at a chapel. He was... getting married?!?!


	76. Oberyn (Hangover in Myr 3 of 11)

“All we have to do is find a judge this afternoon, slip him a couple hundred dollars, and get a quickie annulment. It’s going to be fine,” Thoros was saying.

Mace had his head between his knees and was taking gulping gasping breaths. Oberyn wondered if he knew his hair was thinning on top.

“My mother is going to kill me,” he wailed. “She’s going to flay me alive!”

“Mace, calm down,” Robert patted him on the back. “Look on the bright side. The girl in this photo is really hot.” Oberyn nodded. Not that he agreed. There was no bright side to marriage.

“And you definitely got laid last night,” Oberyn pointed out. “Maybe those are her panties on our chandelier?”

Mace lifted his head, his skin flushing an angry red.

“You,” he hissed, staring at Oberyn with wide eyes and dilated pupils. “This is all your fault! You poisoned me!”

“I poisoned everybody,” Oberyn said exasperatedly. He noticed glares from his other breakfast companions as well. Really. Did nobody appreciate not having a hangover?

“When I monetize this formula, you are all going to be sorry you weren’t more supportive,” he informed them loftily, adjusting his aviators.

“How are you going to monetize the formula?” Thoros bit. “You can’t remember it.”

He was just pissed because they might have had sex last night, Oberyn told himself. Although they probably didn’t. He liked to think he was unforgettable.

“Okay,” Beric interrupted. “As near as I can figure, Ned went missing sometime before one in the morning. And we never found him. We need more information about what was going on at that club.”

“We need a judge!” Mace snapped.

“And a dentist,” Robert added, sticking his tongue through the gap in the side of his mouth.

“And now we only have ten hours before the plane leaves,” Thoros groaned.

“Well if our phones don’t have any more clues, maybe we should go through our clothes from last night?” Oberyn suggested. “If nothing else, maybe we can find Robert’s tooth.”

They reconvened in the suite’s main lounge area with their clothes, treading carefully to avoid stepping on the detritus. Honestly, Oberyn was kind of impressed. He wouldn’t have thought this group had it in them. Wait till Elia, Arthur, Ashara and Ellaria heard.

He peeled a used condom off the couch before sitting down.

“I believe this is yours,” he said, laying it on Mace’s shoulder.

Mace yelped and flicked it at Robert, who laughed and batted it into Beric’s face.

“Empty your pockets,” Beric ground out, removing the condom from his hair with an expression of deep loathing for everyone concerned. “I am going to take another shower.”

“Couldn’t find that bathroom stall last night?” Oberyn said to Thoros. He had never seen someone as tightly wound or as badly in need of a lay as Beric. Thoros replied something in Valyrian that had to be filthy. Oberyn had an ear for curses. 

“I have a phone number,” Oberyn announced, turning out his jean pockets. Feminine handwriting, ballpoint pen. Nice. “And…” his fingers closed around something unfamiliar in his jacket pocket. “A valet ticket?”

“But you don’t have a car,” Mace blurted. Oberyn shrugged.

“I have…” Thoros pulled out his pockets. “Some peanut shells? Lint. Oh! Robert’s tooth.”

“Nice! Give it here!” Robert gave a gaping grin. Thoros tossed the bloody bit of bone into his hands.

“I’m back,” Beric announced with a huff. “And look what I found in the toilet.” He held up a very wet and very dead cell phone. Ned’s cell phone.

“Well that explains why he wasn’t answering our calls. Go through your pockets! It’s your turn!” Robert said, as if they were playing some kind of bizarre party game. “He’s going to be so mad he missed all this!”

Beric dug through his pockets.

“A casino chip? And… a used condom,” Beric’s face flushed as he pulled out yet another.

“So you did find the bathroom stall,” Oberyn smirked, refusing to quail under the double barreled glare.

“Man, did everybody but me get laid last night?” Robert groaned. “My turn. I hope it’s a used condom.”

“What is wrong with you people?!” Beric snapped as he deposited his in the trash can. “Robert, you have a girlfriend!”

“What happens in Myr—“

“Doesn’t stay in Myr, because Cersei Lannister is a friggin’ human lie detector,” Oberyn warned. He’d known the Lannisters since they were children. Hell had no fury like a woman who ruined lives for sport.

“Oooh, I found something,” Robert dug his hand further into his jacket pocket. “Hang on, it’s stuck—it’s, WHAT THE FUCK?!”

A long black corded… thing… flew out of his pocket and landed on the coffee table. They all stared at it.

“Is that what I think it is?” Mace said slowly.

“A braid of human hair?” Oberyn asked. “Yup.”

There was a long pause. Actually, maybe Cersei had met her match. Robert really brought his own brand of special to that relationship. 

“…did you sleep with a girl and then cut off her braid as some kind of weird trophy?” Beric finally asked.

“That’s really fucked up Robert,” Oberyn told him. Robert turned red.

“I did not!”

“How would you know?” Thoros pointed out.

“I just… come on guys, I wouldn’t do that!” Robert protested. Everybody looked at him doubtfully.

“We need to find Ned! Ned knows I would never do that,” Robert crossed his arms defensively. “Mace, it’s your turn. Everyone else has gone.”

“Please don’t be a braid of human hair,” Mace closed his eyes and dug around. He emptied first one pants pocket. Then another. Then both back pockets. Then started going through his collared shirt and sweater frantically, shaking them out.

“Geez we get it,” Oberyn sighed. “You have nothing in your pockets.”

“No no no no no no no,” Mace was babbling, frantically pawing through yesterday’s clothes. “It has to be here!”

“What?” Beric raised an eyebrow.

“My mother’s wedding ring! The one I picked up yesterday from the jeweler’s! It was in my pocket all night!”

“Ooooh,” Robert winced. “Bad luck.”

“You took your mother’s wedding ring to a night club?” Thoros frowned. “That seems… ill-advised.”

“You don’t understand,” Mace gritted his teeth. “My mother said if I let it out of my sight, she would cut off my balls and keep them in her knitting bag.”

“Are you sure you didn’t put them down somewhere around here?” Oberyn offered, shuddering at the imagery. Also the newfound knowledge that Olenna Tyrell knitted. Who would give that woman sharp objects and just turn her loose on the world?!

“Pretty sure that I never would have taken it out of my pocket,” Mace mumbled. “But we can look.”

“What did she send it to the jeweler’s for?” Oberyn asked absently, as he turned over a cushion.

“She wanted another ruby set in it. To celebrate her ten year anniversary.”

“I thought your father was dead,” Robert frowned, rooting through the empty beer cans. “And they were married a lot longer than ten years.”

“He is dead,” Mace looked under one of the sofas. “That’s the anniversary she’s celebrating.”

“Um not to bring up the elephant in the room,” Beric said quietly. “But maybe it’s in there?”

They all glanced nervously at Mace and Oberyn’s room, the door firmly shut. Oberyn considered whether they should move a couch against it, just in case.

“I don’t think so,” Mace said slowly, screwing up his face in thought. It did not appear to be an exercise that came naturally to him. “They were in the pocket of my khakis. I was still wearing my khakis in Beric and Thoros’ room this morning. That means the elephant was in our room before I got back, or I would have changed into my pajamas.”

“Fair enough,” Oberyn said quickly, before somebody suggested letting the angry pachyderm out. He wasn’t scared of elephants. That was silly. He wasn’t scared of anything. It just seemed wise to give an angry and bewilderingly large animal a wide birth.

“We need to find that ring, you guys,” Mace said glumly.

“Forget the ring, let’s find Ned!” Robert waved his arms.

Oberyn and Beric glanced uneasily at each other.

“Look, just because you’ve already gotten into college,” Oberyn cleared his throat delicately, “doesn’t mean that Beric and I want to go to Castle Black. It’s all male, Robert. I require variety.”

“Why are you so scared of Mace’s mom?” Thoros laughed.

“Um no, don’t laugh,” Beric shook his head. “She’s terrifying. She’s like... like...”

“Tywin Lannister with menopause,” Robert supplied. Mace glared.

“What?! She is!”

“And she’ll absolutely destroy our lives if she thinks we had anything to do with Mace losing his ring,” Beric said firmly. “Nobody has ever gotten into the Citadel without a college advisor’s recommendation. I hate to say it, but Ned’s an adult. If he still hasn’t shown up by the time we retrieve the ring, we’ll start looking for him.”

“It’s hard to retrieve something we can’t find,” said Mace, rubbing sweaty palms together.

“Oh, I’ve found it,” Beric assured him.

“Wait what?!” Mace jumped to his feet. “Where?! You barely moved!”

Beric turned over his phone, showing the picture of Mace and his bride. He zoomed in on her hand.

“Right there.”

“Okay, there must be a way to figure out who Mace married,” Robert said, spinning his tooth on the coffee table in a manner that Oberyn found very distracting.

“Do you need some ice, Robert?” He asked, more to get up and do something then anything else. 

“The paperwork probably won’t even be filed until later today,” Thoros sighed. “I think our best bet is to go back to that club and see if they have any security footage of who Mace left with.”

“Are we sure that’s a good idea?” Beric fretted. “We know at minimum Robert got his ass kicked last night.”

“We don’t know that!” Robert shouted from behind the pack of ice he had pressed against his eye.

“But worst case scenario, he’s wanted by the police for some kind of creepy non consensual head shearing.”

“WE DON’T KNOW THAT EITHER!”

“Okay,” Thoros sighed. “Why don’t the two of us go with Mace to the nightclub, and Oberyn can take Robert to a hospital.”

What?! Why was he getting stuck with Robert?! Babysitting Robert was very clearly a Ned or Thoros job. And since Ned wasn’t here...

“I’ll go with Mace and Beric. You go with Robert,” Oberyn folded his arms.

“They can’t speak Valyrian,” Thoros pointed out. 

“Neither can I!”

“What’s to say?! Go to the hospital, give them the tooth, point at the gap, and wait for them to give him some pain killers.”

“I actually feel great,” Robert piped up.

“That’s the drugs. We all do.” Oberyn ruffled his hair. It was almost as nice as his.

“Yeah, and when we come down from whatever you POISONED us with, we’re going to feel like shit,” Mace sulked. Not like Mace. Mace had terrible hair.

“You should be nicer to one of the four people who can tell your mother you got married,” Oberyn pointed out.

“Maybe you should ask at the hospital if they have any records of a Ned Stark being admitted,” Beric said thoughtfully.

“When Thoros takes Robert to the hospital, he can ask. In Valyrian.” 

“Everyone who thinks Oberyn should take Robert to the hospital raise their hand,” Mace said, crossing his arms. Beric, Thoros and Mace all raised their hands.

“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Robert whined.

“Do it for Ned,” Thoros put in. Robert sighed and raised his hand. They all stared at Oberyn.

“Fuck,” Oberyn put his sunglasses down again. This was the last time he ever shared his hangover remedy. “But we’re taking my car.”

“What car?!” Beric scratched his head.

“You missed it,” Thoros told him. “You were taking your ninety-second shower.”

“This car,” Oberyn grinned, and waggled the valet ticket. He really hoped it was a convertible.


	77. Bri/Stan (Hangover in Myr 4 of 11)

“Another one for Jaime and Cersei?!” Jorah sighed in frustration as yet another car pulled into the ever lengthening line behind the Lannisters’ car wash stand. Jaime, who was twirling the sign lazily, winked at Brienne.

Brienne growled, and waved her sign properly, LIKE A PROFESSIONAL.

Catelyn Tully was a wonderful pick for Senior Queen. She had loved Brienne’s ideas for fundraising, and had even thrown in one of her own. Car Wash. It had sounded so harmless, so easy. The only difficulty was scheduling a day when everyone was actually available—they had finally settled on the last Saturday of spring break, and only Robert couldn’t make it.

And when Catelyn had suggested they divide into three teams of two by class year, and she would supervise, that had seemed completely reasonable. Maybe Brienne had been aware that Jaime and Cersei had a tendency to get just the teensiest bit hyper competitive, and maybe Brienne had noticed that they brought out the worst in each other.

But surely that didn’t affect Brienne. And any extra enthusiasm they brought to the cause could only benefit the recipients of the Royal Court’s charitable efforts.

Only it turned out that maybe Brienne was just the slightest bit hyper competitive as well.

“This is unfair!” Brienne snapped. “They’re only choosing you because you took your shirt off!”

“Jorah could take his shirt off,” Jaime grinned.

“Please don’t make me take my shirt off,” Jorah whispered. “I got grayscale the last time I was in Essos. It’s not pretty.”

“And why is Cersei washing cars in a bikini?!” Brienne huffed. “It’s completely unnecessary and she’s doing a terrible job. Look, she didn’t even get that splotch of mud right there!”

“Hey Cersei, you missed a spot!” Jaime called. 

Cersei bent way over with a shimmy to soak her sponge. Several fathers in line leaned out of their car windows to get a closer look. She wrung it out over her chest, and then went to work, moving her entire body in the most pornographic washing motion Brienne had ever seen. 

Another car quickly pulled into the Lannister line, now stretching out of the empty parking lot.

“Maybe if you wore your bathing suit,” Jaime suggested in teasing helpfulness. Brienne gritted her teeth. They did not need sex appeal to win this thing! They did a much better job AND their line was much shorter. Didn’t people want quality? Didn’t people want efficiency?

“We’re screwed,” Jorah sighed. “Oh well. At least we’re beating the sophomores.”

Brienne cast a scornful look over at Edmure Tully and Lynesse Hightower, who were using their sign to fan themselves. As if they had ever been in the running.

Another car began to pull into the lot. Brienne raced Jaime toward the window, grimacing when he beat her by an inch. It was a mother too. Shoot.

“Hi there,” Jaime gave a boyish smile, pushing his blond locks out of his face. “Support the junior car wash?”

The woman was harried looking, with a choppy gray bob, a screaming toddler and a bawling baby.

“Car wash, yes,” she mumbled absently. Jaime gave a flummoxed frown and Brienne took advantage of his moment of confusion to step in.

“The car wash with the shortest line is right this way,” she gestured smoothly. Jorah walked up and waved her toward their side.

“But sometimes supporting a good cause is worth a little wait,” Jaime offered, trying to seize back momentum. “I’ll be happy to keep you company.”

Did he just flirt with this mom in front of her?! Oh game on. If he wanted to play dirty, Brienne could bring out the big guns.

“What an adorable baby,” she cooed. “Is it okay if I hold her? I LOVE babies.” She hoped it was a her. It had a single tuft of silver hair sticking straight up, to which a pink bow had been attached in a rather aspirational way.

The mom looked at the hysterically sobbing infant who was smeared with spittle and looked back at Brienne with a vaguely shell-shocked expression.

“Oops-a-daisy,” Brienne lifted her up from the car seat. “Who’s a good baby?” The baby looked her dead in the eye and then gave a roar of anger, trying to smack her in the face with a chubby little fist. Behind them, Jaime gave a snicker.

“Here let me,” Jorah offered. “My aunt just had her first.” Brienne gratefully gave the flailing menace to her teammate. She was never having children. 

Jorah took the baby and bounced her a little. Like a burst of sunshine, the baby looked into his face and smiled. 

“Grrrglug,” the baby confided to him, opening her eyes wide. They were a rather pretty shade of purple-blue. 

“Aw, who’s a precious little princess?” Jorah smiled. “What’s her name?” He asked the mother.

“Dany. That’s... that’s the first time she’s stopped screaming in two days,” the mother said slowly. Brienne saw the opening and she seized it.

“Why doesn’t Jorah just hold her for a moment while I wash your car?” Brienne said sweetly. “How does that sound?” 

“Amazing,” the mother breathed. “I don’t suppose he does toddlers?”

“I AM A DRAGON!” The little boy screamed. Behind the car, Jorah shook his head, eyes round.

“Just babies, sorry,” Brienne said weakly. “Right this way.”

She cast a smug look over her shoulder at Jaime as she started scrubbing. He rolled his eyes.

“You had to get one eventually!” He yelled back.

True or not, Brienne finished washing the car in a markedly better mood. She accepted the ten dragons with a cheerful thanks and waved to the mom as she drove off. Poor woman. It was terrible how some men just shoved all the house work on the wife. It’s like they completely forgot that the children even existed until they were waved right under their noses—

“Hey Brienne,” Jorah walked around the corner, the baby still in his arms. “You done yet? We should be...” He trailed off when he saw that the car had disappeared. Brienne gulped. “...getting her home,” Jorah finished his sentence slowly.

~~~~

“Remind me why I have to do this again?” Stannis grumbled, as he packed his suitcase. He didn’t like strangers. Strangers were just people who had yet to reveal the ways in which they would annoy him. Therefore they were both annoying and untrustworthy.

“Because Marya is my girlfriend and you’re my best friend and I’d like the two of you to meet,” Davos said calmly.

“And why does Melisandre have to come?”

“Because she’s your girlfriend and my friend and double dates are normal social activities that friends in relationships do.”

Stannis considered this.

“Why do we have to go to a lake?”

“Because it’s free and I like boats and nature and we can all get to know each other on the car ride up,” Davos said, his eye twitching slightly. He should get that looked at. Maybe he was developing a stye.

“My pool is free,” Stannis pointed out. 

“There are no boats or nature in your pool.”

“Have you been to this lake before?”

“Once when I was younger.”

“It doesn’t seem safe,” Stannis frowned.

“It’s a lake,” Davos growled. “How can it be unsafe?!”

“To plan a date to a place that you’ve only been once years ago. What if it’s closed?”

“It’s a lake! Lakes don’t close!” Davos snapped.

“What if it rains?”

“I checked the forecast. And we can use the waterproof poncho, umbrella, and windbreaker that you are packing in that SUITCASE for a DAY TRIP!” Davos seemed very agitated. Maybe his stye was bothering him.

“The windbreaker doesn’t have a hood. Let me pack one that does,” Stannis inspected it critically. “What time are we picking up the girls?”

“We’ll call them when we get to their apartments,” Davos responded a little more normally.

Stannis snorted. Davos glared at him.

“Yes?”

“Then we should budget arriving at the lake at two not noon. And by the way, Melisandre is prone to getting... hangry.”

Davos had rolled his eyes at him.

He did not roll his eyes when Marya dithered over each of her siblings and checked and rechecked that they had enough food and then made them turn around because she was sure she had left stove on. Even though Stannis had assured her that she hadn’t. A lifetime with Robert had left him in the habit of checking everyone’s stoves constantly as a kind of general public service.

Davos got a little more annoyed when they found Melisandre sitting on a corner of her bed staring blankly at what looked like the entire contents of her closet ejected onto her coverlet.

“It’s just... what do I wear?” Melisandre sighed and Marya nodded sympathetically. Stannis had the good sense to keep his mouth shut.

“Melisandre,” Davos scowled. “We are running late and they are all red.”

Both girls turned toward him, Marya’s eyes wide, Melisandre’s stare hooded. As though they had identified the nonbeliever in their midst.

“Don’t be absurd,” Melisandre said in her coldest and haughtiest tone.

“Really,” Marya folded her arms. Perhaps it was being outnumbered more than anything else that made him engage.

“Okay Marya, why don’t you explain the differences between these five red cover ups and those eight bathing suits?” Davos gave back.

“First, none of them are RED. That’s scarlet, crimson, carmine, vermillion and maroon,” Marya narrowed her eyes. Davos cast a blank look at the five identical shades of billowy dresses.

“Women have more cones in their eyes so they are able to perceive more nuances in color,” Stannis interjected helpfully. “It’s science.”

Melisandre and Marya favored him with benign smiles.

Davos shot him a dirty look as if to ask who’s side he was on.

“Now, I love this halter bikini if we’re going for style, but I think if you want to get in the water at all you should do a one piece,” Marya said thoughtfully, somehow finding a patch of the bed to sit on.

“You don’t think the halter is last season,” Melisandre said thoughtfully.

“Oh no, it’s been all of the fashion magazines lately.”

Davos sighed. Stannis was glad that he had remembered to pack snacks for the car. It was looking like a 2:30 arrival.

“Face it, you’re lost!” Marya snapped as they circled back by the same blackened tree for the third time.

“I’m not lost, the parking is around here somewhere,” Davos said heatedly.

“We should have asked for directions back at the lodge like I told you to,” Marya sniffed. “I’m starving, I can barely think I’m so hungry.”

Stannis, who had fed Melisandre a packet of trail mix, a candy bar, a can of sparkling water, and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with the ends cut off over the course of the car trip, cast a glance over at his girlfriend. She was smiling serenely.

“Do you want some crisps?” He offered, looking through the suitcase to see what else he’d brought. “A soda perhaps?”

“I couldn’t possibly take YOUR food,” Marya shot a withering glance at Davos. “It was so thoughtful of you to bring something.”

“I really insist,” Stannis pressed a packet of crisps into her hand. 

“Very thoughtful,” Davos managed to get out. He finally found the parking lot and they trooped out onto the beach. Stannis looked dispassionately at the lake in front of them. The water was not clear or chlorinated and the number of waterborne parasites that could be contracted by humans was astounding. Mosquitoes were the single deadliest animal in the world. The pricing for paddleboats, rowboats and paddleboards was frankly extortionist.

“I’ll get us some hot dogs,” he offered. The girls beamed at him. When he returned, Davos had rented a rowboat and was trying to persuade Marya to join him in it.

“It doesn’t look very comfortable,” she was frowning. But after a quick lunch, she reluctantly got in and they went out on the water.

“It’s nice that we’re past all that bickering,” Stannis smiled at Melisandre as she sunbathed.

“Isn’t it?” She smiled back. “I can’t imagine what Davos was thinking, making that comment about how fussy Marya is.”

“I mean she did make us go back to her apartment three times,” Stannis muttered. Melisandre propped herself up on her elbows.

“She was worried about her siblings!” 

“I don’t recall you ever having to go back to make sure Thoros had a list of emergency numbers and applesauce if he got hungry.”

“YOUNGER siblings!”

“I’ve never had to go back to make sure Renly could find his teddy bear because he has trouble taking naps without it!”

“So you’re saying she’s fussy?!”

“Yes!”

“Well that’s rich coming from the man who brought a suitcase to an afternoon outing!”

“I didn’t hear you complaining when you were eating your five-course meal in the car!”

“…are you calling me fat?” Melisandre growled. Stannis gulped.


	78. Thoros (Hangover in Myr 5 of 11)

Thoros had to admit, he was holding his breath a little bit as Oberyn gave the bellhop his valet ticket. What was going to come back? Oberyn couldn’t have gotten really drunk and bought a car—there were no auto shops open that late. Maybe he bet somebody their car on something?

A sleek black sedan pulled up soundlessly.

“Rolls Royce? Solid. Wouldn’t have thought it was your style Martell,” Robert grinned, the black hole in his smile winking cheerfully at them.

“I was hoping for something red,” Oberyn sighed as he tipped the bellhop.

Thoros walked around to inspect.

Ned was probably fine. Myr wasn’t THAT dangerous. Sure, maybe he had taken them to one of the more dangerous parts, but they were all seventeen and eighteen year old men, they could handle themselves.

Robert started trying to whistle through the hole in the side of his mouth.

“Everybody look in the interior of the car for clues too,” Beric instructed. He was so good at this. Getting to show Beric around Myr for a week had been amazing. It was like seeing the city through new and slightly more sober eyes. It did have great museums! And a fascinating cultural history!

If only his hair was long enough for a top knot again. Soon, he told himself.

Dutifully he lifted his gaze to inspect the exterior of the car for anything that might suggest what happened last night. Then he whistled.

“I still think I should have gone with a sports car,” Oberyn was shaking his head from shot gun, as if he’d been offered some wide variety of options to choose from. Thoros slid into the driver’s seat.

“This is better than a sports car,” he tried to say evenly, but the giddy excitement breaking across his face made it impossible. “This car has diplomatic plates.”

“So?” Mace said in a surly voice. Poor guy, he seemed to have gotten the worst of the evening’s activities. Married and down a ring.

“It means the police won’t stop us,” Thoros told him. “There’s no point because they think the occupants will have prosecutorial immunity. Not to mention all the embassies contribute heavily to the police pension fund.”

“That sounds like corruption,” Beric pointed out.

“Nobody’s agreeing to let them get away with murder. It’s just... implied,” Thoros shrugged. He put the car in gear. “Now let’s see what this baby can do!”

He managed to make it back across the city into the slums in record time. The ability to drive the wrong way down one way streets was enormously helpful. He noticed Oberyn was clinging to the handle above the door for dear life and the others had gone unusually quiet, but that was kind of a nice respite. He’d been with these people 24/7 for seven days after all, it was nice to have a break.

He saw the turn off and cut across eight lanes of traffic to get there, ignoring the blaring horns. Behind him Mace moaned softly.

“Here’s the club,” Thoros announced. “The Windblown. Oberyn, are you good to drive to the hospital?”

“I think I’m good to drive for the rest of the time,” Oberyn said stiffly, mumbling under his breath that Thoros was as bad as Robert. Whatever that meant. Robert was a great driver.

“Just plug it in your phone, Bakkalon General Hospital.”

“Got it,” Oberyn nodded. He got into the driver’s seat, and Robert moved up to shot gun before the car timidly pulled out. Thoros sighed. What a complete waste of those diplomatic plates.

He shepherded Beric and Mace to the dingy front, and rapped sharply on the door. When nobody came up, Thoros just knocked more loudly, determined to get in if he had to knock this door down to do it.

Finally there was the sound of someone moving below. The door opened, just an inch, the security chain still firmly in place.

“Whatchu want?” A voice growled in Myrrish Valyrian.

“Caggo! My favorite corpsekiller!” Thoros smiled brightly.

“Why is he called corpsekiller?!” Beric hissed in his ear.

“Ugh you. Get lost.” Caggo tried to shut the door but Thoros had wedged his foot inside.

“Mace, give me your wallet,” he said.

“Wha—“ Mace began, before Thoros lifted it nimbly from his pocket. He waved a twenty dragon note in through the door.

“We need help,” Thoros continued in Valyrian. The note disappeared. There was a long pause. Finally the door screeched open.

Caggo was an enormous, heavily scarred Dothraki who had worked his way up from bouncer to manager of the night club. Thoros had met him... somewhere? Specifics were so hard to recall.

“You’ll need more than help when the khalasar catches up with your friend,” Caggo smiled. Well that was… ominous?

“We’re looking for a girl,” Thoros explained, then switched languages. “Beric show him the photo?”

Beric timidly held out the photo of Mace and his new wife. Caggo squinted at it.

“Congrats,” he sneered at a trembling Mace.

“What’s he say?” Mace whispered.

“That he needs another twenty,” Thoros plucked another bill out of the wallet fold.

“Caggo, who’s the girl?”

“Why don’t you ask her new hubby,” Caggo leered. Thoros sighed and moved the bill further out of reach.

“Do to an unforeseen series of circumstances, none of us can remember the events of last night, after arriving at this fine establishment. So any information you have on her identity would be most appreciated. Monetarily appreciated.”

“Wait,” Caggo cackled. “None of you lot remember what you did last night?”

“No?” Thoros said uncertainly.

“What about the other three that were with you?”

“Not them either? Is there something you should be telling us? What did we do?”

“You got very drunk,” Caggo said rolling his eyes. “These two about the same. And your fat friend made himself very popular.”

“Robert’s not fat, he’s big boned,” Thoros said. “If anyone’s fat, it’s Mace.” Robert’s t-shirt was barely containing his rather portly girth. 

“What’s he say?” Mace whispered again.

“Don’t worry about it,” Thoros assured him. 

“But your last friend… the Dornish looking one? Let’s just say he might want to stay far far away from the Tattered Prince.”

“Uh any reason in particular?”

“That’ll cost you more than twenty,” Caggo leered. Thoros took a peek at Mace’s wallet. This was going to have to last them the entire day, and it sounded like they had a lot of ruffled feathers to smooth over.

“Just the information about the girl please,” Thoros said. Because that other thing sounded like an Oberyn problem, and fuck that guy. Except not literally. Please not literally.

“Fine,” Caggo sulked and snatched the twenty from his hand. “She was one of the Tattered Prince’s casino dealers.”

“Why did he have casino dealers at the Windblown?” Thoros frowned. The Tattered Prince was once of Myr’s shadier businessmen, and he had his fingers in a dozen ventures of dubious legality. His casino, the Canvas Castle, was so named because of the many many times it had been forced to uproot and change locations.

“Wow, you really remember nothing,” Caggo snorted. “Last night was opening night of this season’s amateur boxing tournament. It was a huge party. You guys talked your way in somehow, I should have fired the bouncer. The Tattered Prince was hosting all of the sponsors. Every syndicate worth mentioning is sponsoring a fighter. Golden Company, Company of the Rose, Brave Companions, Stormcrows, Wolf Pack… He set up some tables in the backroom.”

“So we got wasted with the who’s who of the Myrrish mafia?” Thoros swallowed. He kept a smile on his face. He was really glad Beric and Mace couldn’t understand a word of this.

“Well, you got wasted,” Caggo smirked. Again, there was that niggling feeling that he should be unpacking this more.

“And my friends…?”

“How much money you got?”

Thoros growled.

“Come on guys,” he turned to Beric and Mace. “We’re going to a casino.”

The Canvas Castle was in fact an enormous sailcloth pavilion in a dark gray. It looked like a moodier circus tent, and today it could be found on one of the many riverbanks that emptied into the Sea of Myrrth.

“It’s the oldest floating casino in the world,” Beric was reading to them from the guide book that had permanently fused with his hand. He had evidently decided that since he wasn’t going to get to visit the Weaver’s Quarter today, he would be picking up history where he could find it. “It was founded in Pentos, and migrated across the Disputed Lands before ultimately settling in Myr. It’s the largest temporary structure in Myr and it can be broken up and packed away in under an hour!”

“Yeah let’s hope we avoid a police raid,” Thoros sighed, trying to catch the eye of one of the dealers.

“Excuse me,” he began to an intimidatingly attractive and bored looking woman. 

“No chip? No play,” she looked at him disdainfully and said in Common. Thoros glanced down at his outfit and blinked. He was wearing the red swim trunks Beric had given him for his birthday and a loud Summer Islands shirt. For him, this was basically dressed up.

“I have a chip,” Beric chimed in sweetly, and produced the chip that he had found in his pocket that morning. She looked at him and her features transformed into something approaching interested.

“Can I make some change for you?” She leaned over to take it from Beric, offering a frankly unnecessary view of her cleavage.

“My friend here just got married, and we were hoping to find his wife? She works here?” Beric showed her the picture. Mace squawked slightly in alarm at the word ‘wife’. 

“That’s Shae, let me just run and get her for you,” the dealer winked. 

A beautiful but rather young olive skinned woman with a tumble of black curls pulled behind her head appeared behind their dealer.

She looked at the three of them suspiciously for a moment, and then her eyes fell upon Mace. Mace who looked like nothing so much as a rather nervous chipmunk.

“Mace, my love,” she smiled, and the expression transformed her entire face from haughty disinterest to doe-eyed fondness.

“Hi?” Mace squeaked.

“Oh why so shy, flower,” she pulled him by the front of the shirt into a lingering kiss.

“Hi,” he breathed, looking transfixed.

“Thoros, Beric, so good to see you again,” she gave them both a warm greeting.

Thoros glanced at Beric. This might be tricky.

“Can we maybe talk to you outside the casino?” Beric said uncomfortably.

“Of course, my shift just ended. I thought Mace might surprise me, I just never expected the entire wedding party!”

The group slowly winded toward the exit.

“Young man! Don’t forget your chips,” the dealer rushed after Beric. “Come again soon,” she beamed at him.

“You’re too kind,” Beric said politely and obliviously. Thoros shot her a look which she ignored.

“So Shae,” Thoros cleared his throat. “Have you been a casino dealer long?”

“Oh no,” she laughed. “I’ve only recently been trying to get out of the escort game, and that still pays the bills. But you know that, that’s how we met,” she cuddled into Mace’s shoulder. Mace looked stricken.

“Right, see, we actually don’t remember much from last night,” Beric began hesitantly. “We were hoping you might fill in some blanks.” He glanced down at the gold band on her finger inlaid with alternating diamonds and rubies.

“Our friend poisoned us!” Mace blurted, in some kind of desperate and misguided bid for sympathy. “We don’t remember anything!”

“Anything?” Her oval face pulled into the slightest frown. “What about when I gave you that lap dance?”

Mace shook his head.

“And when we danced on the stage?” Her eyebrows were knitting together.

Mace winced.

“What about when you took me back to your suite and we made love on the couch and you told me you had never made love before?”

....what. Mace looked mortified but shook his head again.

Shae’s lower lip started to quiver.

“And when you gave me your mother’s ring and said you never wanted to make love to anyone else as long as you lived?”

Mace swallowed. “Shae, I...” he tried to take her hand, and she reeled back and slapped him across the face.

“I thought you were different!” She yelled. “But you’re just as bad as the rest of them!”

“Please don’t be upset,” Mace pleaded, clutching his cheek which was quickly turning a dark red.

“How dare you treat me like some kind of WHORE!”

Thoros scratched his head. I mean, technically, wasn’t she?

“You’re scum! I can’t believe I trusted you! And you know what, yes Mace it is really small. I have never seen one smaller!”

...come again?

“I will never forgive you, never!” Shae spat. She stopped in the middle of the street, ignoring the blaring of car horns, and began wrenching at her finger. “You can take this,” she finally got the ring loose and hurled it down the street. “And your tiny dick back to Westeros!”

Thoros missed the end of that exchange because he immediately raced for the ring, trying to keep an eye on it as it bounced down the pavement amongst the stop and go traffic.

“Excuse me!” He held up a hand as he crawled under one car only to see it continue rolling.

“So sorry,” he patted another car’s hood as he squeezed in front.

He caught up with it just as it began merrily rolling toward a storm drain, finally diving down on top of it to prevent it from escape. Unfortunately that plastered his front half in disgusting highway mud, but Mace had wanted his damn ring and now Thoros had gotten it back. Who said he was a bad tour guide?!

“Ta da,” He grinned broadly as he presented the ring to Mace upon return. Mace was standing at the side of the road looking shell-shocked. Beric had his hand on his shoulder.

“All things considered, I think that went very well,” Thoros said brightly. Mace and Beric glared at him. “What?”


	79. Robert (Hangover in Myr 6 of 11)

He was missing a tooth. What would Cersei say? Somehow he didn’t think she would be very pleased. There had been a lot of don’ts before he had been allowed to get on the plane. Don’t cheat, don’t drink too much, don’t cheat, don’t put on too much weight, don’t cheat, don’t forget to call every day, don’t cheat. Nothing about losing a tooth though. If anyone was going to be blamed, it really should be her for failure of imagination.

Oberyn was creeping toward downtown, and Robert was nearly dying of boredom. The ride to the club had been much more interesting.

“What are the odds Olenna finds out about Mace getting married?” Robert laughed, still tickled at the whole situation. Who would have thought Mace had it in him? That stuffed shirt! Maybe he wasn’t so bad.

“No bet,” Oberyn smirked, which was as close to smiling as he usually got. Honestly, Robert didn’t know what Oberyn was in such a bad mood about. He was the one who had poisoned everyone. If anything, Robert should be mad at HIM. But he wasn’t. All things considered, this was rather exciting. He just wished Ned would turn up.

“She probably already knows,” Robert nodded absent-mindedly. The nav system had taken them off the highway into a weird windy road. A motorcycle had followed them.

Oberyn took a left. The motorcycle took a left too. The rider had full gear and a helmet on, so clues to his identity were not forthcoming.

Oberyn took a right. This time, when the motorcycle took a right, it was joined by two more motorcycles.

“Say Martell,” Robert began hesitantly. “Have you noticed—“

Oberyn cursed as the nav system piloted them straight into a dead end.

“These roads are so twisted! I’m halfway sure the satellite doesn’t even know where we are,” he sighed and gave the box a light slap.

Robert looked out the rear view mirror. There were five motorcycles now, and they were blocking the path out.

“Do you have any money?” Robert asked nervously.

“No, but don’t worry, Thoros said it was universal health care. They’ll see you without charging us. Gotta love Essos, right?”

“That wasn’t why I was asking,” Robert sighed as one of the riders tapped on the glass of his window. “I think we’re about to get mugged.”

“Seven hells!” Oberyn jumped as another approached from his side. “Why didn’t you say something?!”

“I tried,” Robert said sulkily.

“Well don’t open the door, let me see if I can—“

The rider on Robert’s side now tapped the window with a gun.

“I’m opening the door,” Robert gulped.

He hadn’t even got it more than half open when the man with the gun grabbed him by the shirt collar and half dragged him out.

“I don’t have anything!” Robert held up his hands in the universal language of please-don’t-hurt-me.

The man said something completely unintelligible. By this point Robert was starting to get a feel for how Valyrian sounded, and this wasn’t that. He had time to briefly ponder what it could be before the man hit him in the face with the gun.

“Ow, fuck you, you fucker!” Robert clocked him in the jaw, and then followed up with an enormous haymaker that might have sent Gregor Clegane reeling. This guy flew back several feet and then slumped against the wall.

Oh no you don’t, Robert thought, marching toward him. I tried to be nice and now I’m just going to curb stomp the shit out of you.

That’s when another one of the men attacked. It occurred to him that it was rather odd that they were only attacking one at a time, as he caught the flying tackle to his spine and toppled forward onto his hands and knees. As he twisted in the guy’s grip and started repeatedly kicking him in the face, he noted that it was very polite of them not to use their guns.

Of course that was when the gun went off. The sound was impossibly loud and sent a ringing pain through Robert’s head. Not even Oberyn’s miracle drug was enough to fully dull the lance of agony. Oh shit, Oberyn.

Robert turned, fully expecting to have to explain to Elia Martell how he’d gotten her twin brother shot in the back alleys of Myr. But Oberyn was fine, aside from clutching his ears like he was afraid they might fall off.

Not so fine was one of the motorcyclists, who was clutching his leg, a slowly growing pool of blood beneath him in the dirt. Robert kept turning, befuddled.

Another man, this one on foot, had appeared. He was perhaps early twenties, blonde and had mild gray eyes. He was wearing a white linen suit that was absolutely spotless. One hand had a colorful silk handkerchief with which he was dabbing the sweat off his brow. From the other hand dangled an enormous snub-nosed revolver. The three still standing assailants immediately made a break for it and vanished down the street.

“Terribly hot isn’t it?” The man said in the King’s own Common as he watched them go. Robert exchanged an uneasy look with Oberyn.

“Uh yeah,” he finally ventured. 

The man returned his handkerchief to his pocket and then walked over to the man he had just shot. He said something in the quick guttural language that Robert’s attacker had used. Groaning, the man shook his head and babbled something back.

The gunman stepped on his leg, eliciting a howl of pain and more babbling. Evidently the answer he had produced was not to his liking, because he spat in the man’s face before lifting his foot.

“Bloody Dothraki. I say, could I trouble you gents for a lift?”

The well-dressed sociopath who was now giving Oberyn directions through the streets of Myr introduced himself as Harry Strickland. He was gold for four generations, whatever that meant. And he had been having a terrible, no-good, very bad day.

First, he had found an absolute ringer for the amateur boxing tournament. Everyone who was anyone entered a fighter every year, and the last few seasons the Golden Company had been punching below their weight, if you’ll pardon the pun. But this year, they’d gotten the famous Khal Drogo, only the fiercest Dothraki fighter on the entire continent. He’d like to see Bloodbeard’s face when the Khal wiped the floor with whatever patsy the Company of the Cat sent up! Except he wouldn’t. Because Khal Drogo had disappeared.

He’d been walking all over the Dothraki quarter, trying to get some answers. You wouldn’t believe the blister he was developing on his toe. As near as he could figure, the impetuous Khal had engaged in a little off-the-books boxing of his own last night while completely wasted and had lost to some complete stranger! Don’t drink and gamble a khalasar. Now he was in the hospital with a concussion, and his Khalasar was refusing to send a replacement, because that honor rightfully belonged to the man who had defeated him, at least until somebody from the Khalasar could defeat him in turn. Ugh. Dothraki, am I right?

Robert and Oberyn quickly agreed that their new friend Harry was right. He had an unsettling habit of waving the gun around while making hand gestures.

THEN, to add insult to injury, while he was attending opening night of the tournament, some drunken assholes had broken into his house and stolen his elephant!

He announced this right as he had Oberyn pull into the driveway of an enormous mansion, and the security gates closed behind the car. Trapping them.

Oh shit. Robert glanced over at Oberyn. He was wearing his stupid sunglasses, but the corners of his mouth were turned down in a distinct frown. Elephant?!?! Did Harry know it was them?! Was it them?! How many missing elephants could there be in Myr? For the first time, Robert started to resent this whole not remembering anything business.

“Would you like a refreshment before you go on your way?” Harry asked genially. It was very unclear whether this was an offer or an order.

“Some water would be nice,” Robert finally mumbled, not getting much of a cue from Oberyn. Which was a shame because Oberyn was usually much better than him at navigating odd social situations. Probably all the angry fathers he’d had to talk down. 

“Of course! And something stronger perhaps? A G&T?”

“Actually,” Oberyn finally jumped in. “Can we take a look at your security footage as well? Of whomever stole the elephant? I noticed you had some video cameras on the way in?”

“Oh good show! Perhaps you’ll know them, one was definitely Westerosi.” Harry sent a butler scurrying off to get sparkling water with lime wedges and then sat them down in front of an enormous plasma television.

“This is from her pen. She’s a pygmy elephant of course. It would be unkind to have the fully grown species in the city, although I stable several at my country estate,” Harry pressed a few buttons and footage appeared of an all-too-familiar animal. And two all-too-familiar faces.

A stumbling drunk Thoros was half carrying a far drunker Beric. With a sigh of exhaustion, he sat him down leaning on the pen. He looked in and waved at the elephant. He looked back down at his friend. It was like watching a disaster unfold in slow motion. Robert covered his eyes and peeked through his fingers.

Thoros was scratching his head. Now he was leaning over to inspect the lock on the pen. He pulled something out of his pocket and knelt by the lock.

“What do elephants eat?” Beric asked, head lolling to one side. Oh no, please don’t say his name, Robert winced.

“Um peanuts I think?” Thoros answered.

“No, that’s not right,” Beric shook his head. “It was something else, what was it?”

Thoros had gotten the door open. He helped himself to a generous handful of feed from the pen, and began the work of luring the elephant out.

“She’s just so trusting,” Harry said sadly. “Such a magnificent, gentle creature.” Robert remembered the furious trumpeting from Mace and Oberyn’s room and swallowed.

“Mice!” Beric shouted triumphantly on the screen. “Elephants eat mice!”

“Elephants do not eat mice,” Harry assured his audience.

“Okay, up you go,” Thoros was lifting Beric on top of the elephant.

“Do I have to?” Beric whined.

“I cannot possible carry you any further,” Thoros sighed. “Can you walk?”

“No.”

“Then you have to.”

“I’m going to be sick,” Beric said from his perch on the pygmy elephant. And then he was. An enormous stream of puke splashing down his shirt and the elephant.

“Hang tight,” Thoros hiccuped, as he enticed the elephant down the path with a handful of peanuts.

“Can we stop for mice?” Beric asked from off screen. Then the video clip ended.

“Disgusting animals,” Harry sniffed violently. It was clear he was not referring to the elephant.

“Too awful for words,’ Robert gulped.

“Tourists,” Oberyn shuddered dramatically. “They should be in jail for this.”

“It makes you wish they’d bring back capital punishment,” Robert piled on.

“So you don’t know them?” Harry said disappointedly.

“Us? Heavens no,” Oberyn laughed gently, showing all of his very white teeth. “Where are my manners? I should have introduced us. I am Oberyn Martell, of Martell Minerals. And this is Robert Baratheon, heir to Stormsend Shipping.”

Robert stood up straight and tried to look respectable. Damn black eye.

“Charmed,” Harry drawled and shook their hands. “Do people call you Bobby?” This was directed at Robert. Stannis had always told him he was ridiculous enough without a nickname. Robert inwardly sighed. “You do,” he said with a smile.

“You can see, this is quite a different class of person than we would be associating with,” Oberyn shook his head, getting them back on track.

“Never seen them in my life,” Robert chipped in.

“Pity,” Harry shrugged. “Well no matter, Plan B is already in motion.”

“…Plan B?” Robert said tentatively.

“Oh yes,” Harry took a sip of his sparkling water. “I naturally have her tagged with a GPS tracker.”

“Naturally,” Oberyn squeaked.

“I’ve zeroed in on her location and sent an armed extraction team. They should be arriving at any minute.”

“Splendid,” Robert managed. Why was his mouth so dry? “I do hate to take up more of your time.”

“Yes,” Oberyn stood. “We really should be going.”

“Of course,” Harry Strickland beamed. “Enjoy your stay in Myr.”


	80. Beric (Hangover in Myr 7 of 11)

“This hotel is called Magister’s Suites, because the original building was a Magister’s palace,” Beric read from the guide book as they walked through the lobby of their abode.

When that failed to cheer Mace up, Beric searched his mind for something else. Anything else.

“At least we got the ring,” he said, for the third or fourth time. Mace grunted. Beric supposed if he’d accidentally gotten married after losing his virginity he would be in a bad mood too. Beric buried his nose in his guidebook again as they got in the elevator to the penthouse suite.

“Technically it wasn’t the Magister’s palace, per se. He actually had it built for his mistress, a famous Lysene known for her facility with poisons. He was allegedly worried for the safety of his wife after—“

The elevator had opened and Beric swallowed the rest of his sentence. There were four heavily armed men sitting in their common room. On seeing the three walk in, the apparent leader stood. He had brown hair and was very tan, an effect accentuated by the gold bands that ran all the way up his arm.

“Heya,” he said amiably, the tone belied by the gun that was trained on Thoros. He spoke in Common and had no trace of an accent. Beric was sure he was Westerosi. “My name is Tristan Rivers and I’m here about an elephant.”

“What elephant?” Thoros said on his left, as Mace simultaneously moaned on his right.

“That elephant,” Tristan Rivers jerked his thumb at Mace and Oberyn’s room. “Homeless Harry’s elephant.”

The name didn’t mean anything to Beric. But Thoros swallowed.

“Oh,” he said weakly. “That elephant.”

“Yeah,” Tristan Rivers began opening their cupboards. Finally he found a beer and slurped it, his gun never leaving Thoros. “That elephant.”

“Our intention was always to return it,” Thoros said. “After it mysteriously appeared in our apartment.”

It was?

“It was?” Tristan took another slurp. “Because we actually have footage of you stealing it.”

What?! Thoros! Beric shot him a very stern look.

“You and him,” Tristan casually gestured to Beric with the gun.

On the other hand, who could really be responsible for what they did when they were drunk?

“It was definitely our intention,” Thoros nodded earnestly, his shaggy bangs bouncing at the gesture. “And please let Harry know that we are so very sorry for the inconvenience.”

“I reckon,” Tristan crumpled the beer can in one hand and tossed it over his shoulder. “That Harry is too worked up over this Dothraki situation to care too much. I also reckon that me and the boys don’t fancy getting an angry elephant back to Harry’s.”

The boys nodded.

“So here’s what we’re going to do,” Tristan leaned forward, smiling a smile that was more gold than tooth. Beric wondered if they should get his dentist’s name for Robert. “You are going to bring the elephant back to Harry’s.”

There was a beat while they waited for the catch. When it became apparent that there was none, Thoros (perhaps the designated spokesperson by virtue of being the one with the gun trained on him) jumped in.

“Absolutely. Without question. Right away,” Thoros nodded vigorously. “Um... if you were us, how would you go about doing that?”

“Same way you got her here,” Tristan Rivers shrugged. Beric was surprised. In all the thinking about the elephant that he had done (and it featured in a not-insubstantial portion of his thoughts), he had never thought of it as a her.

Thoros shot an uneasy glance at Beric and Mace.

“Right,” he said. “That way.”

“There is just one more thing,” Tristan picked his teeth slowly. “And it’s not that I don’t trust you,” he added apologetically. “But you do steal elephants. The thing is, we need insurance.”

“Insurance,” Thoros repeated doubtfully.

“Yup. And we took a look around the suite, and there wasn’t much here. So my thinking is,” Tristan Rivers turned his gun on Beric, “your blonde friend is going to come with us. And you can get him back when we get our elephant.”

Beric’s eye met Thoros’ in a soundless plea for help.

“Wait!” Thoros blurted. “You don’t want him!”

“No?” Tristan sucked his teeth speculatively.

“No,” Thoros shook his head. “He’s very whiny. And he’s always reading from that guide book he’s holding. It’s quite annoying.”

Mace nodded in agreement. Beric made a mental note to tell them both off, assuming he even survived this. Whiny was he? Maybe Thoros should wait until the next time he was cold, and they would see who was whiny.

“What you really want,” Thoros continued, “is his ring,” he pointed at Mace. Mace, who had been nodding, now started shaking his head.

“A ring?” Tristan Rivers’ eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” Thoros pressed on. “I can see you like your wealth mobile,” he glanced at the arm bands. “So a person’s not much good. But this guy has a ring that...” he trailed off and then whistled as if words failed him.

“Let’s see the ring,” Tristan growled. Mace hesitated, no doubt weighing Beric’s life against his mother’s wrath. It appeared to be a difficult decision. Tristan made it easier by cocking the gun and moving it to Mace.

“Oh this ring!” Mace fumbled hastily to get it out of his pocket.

“Toss it over,” Tristan beckoned and then caught it one handed. “Nice,” he said thoughtfully. “Eighty thousand dragons I would say.”

“Deal?” Thoros asked hopefully. 

“Deal,” Tristan Rivers pocketed the ring. “I’ll be seeing you at Harry’s.” The elephant trumpeted, an enraged sound. “Or not,” he patted the ring and grinned wryly.

The four men exited, and Mace immediately sank into the couch. Thoros got himself a beer from the cupboard that Tristan had discovered. Beric considered whether he wanted another cold shower.

They were all a little depressed, and when Robert and Oberyn came crashing through the front door fifteen minutes later, they were sprawled on the couches more or less in the same positions that Tristan and his boys had been.

“We need to leave right now,” Robert gasped. “There’s a crazy person who sent a hit squad to get his...”

“Elephant?” Beric sighed. “We met the hit squad.”

“How did you all make it out alive?” Oberyn asked surprised. Beric frankly thought it showed a lack of faith in his companions that was undeserved.

“We gave them my mother’s ring,” Mace moaned.

“Oh nice, you got it back?” Robert asked.

“Temporarily,” Mace muttered.

“How was your new wife? As hot as the picture?”

“Hotter. I don’t think she likes me very much,” Mace responded dully. 

“Never mind that,” Beric interjected before Mace could spiral back into his pit of self-pity. “How did you know about the crazy guy sending a hit squad?”

“We met him,” Robert announced somewhat proudly.

“You met Homeless Harry?” Thoros’ eyebrows lifted.

“Harry Strickland,” Oberyn nodded. “He’s currently out one Dothraki boxer for the fight tonight.”

“Bad news for the Golden Company,” Thoros said absently.

The Golden Company! That’s why that guy Tristan Rivers had all of those gold armbands. They were one of the oldest gangs in Essos, a hold over from practically the Middle Ages. 

“You were hanging out with a gang leader?” Beric looked at Robert and Oberyn accusingly.

“I have his number,” Robert waved his phone cavalierly.

“Do you really think that’s wise?” Beric managed to ground out. “Or is your plan to give him a tour of King’s Landing the next time he visits?”

“We’re not the ones who stole an elephant,” Oberyn jumped in smoothly to Robert’s defense. “He showed us the footage. You should both be ashamed of yourselves.”

“At least we didn’t poison—“ Thoros started to yell back before Mace jumped in.

“ENOUGH!” He roared. Everyone was taken back enough to shut up. “Everybody here did something stupid last night. All we should be doing is focusing on getting that elephant back to Harry Strickland and getting my ring back!”

“And Ned,” Robert added quickly.

“Not in the hospital system?” Beric questioned.

“We didn’t actually get there,” Oberyn admitted. “We got mugged by Dothraki and then saved by this Harry fellow and then we tore back here to try and rescue the three of you.”

“Which we appreciate,” Thoros ground out grudgingly. “Say on that footage, how exactly did we get that elephant to follow us?”

“Lots of peanuts,” Robert scratched his head. “To be fair she seemed less angry last night.”

“Okay, I’ll run downstairs and start buying peanuts,” Thoros said. “If anyone has any thoughts on calming down an elephant, I’m open to them.”

Oberyn cleared his throat.

“Actually, I could perhaps create some kind of concoction that might do the trick.”

Everyone stared at him dubiously.

“How many drugs did you bring?” Mace hissed.

“We were flying corporate! It’s not like they were checking my bags,” Oberyn rolled his eyes.

“If you um need to see somebody when we get back to King’s Landing…” Beric ventured. “We could try to help?”

“I do not need an intervention,” Oberyn crossed his arms. “Do you want a drugged up elephant or not?”

“Yes please,” Thoros said and then departed to get peanuts.

“Well?” Oberyn looked sternly at Beric. Beric tried not to ponder the moral ramifications of drugging a poor animal who had ended up in their hotel suite through absolutely no fault of its own. Her own. That made it worse. Why did her being a girl elephant make it worse?!

“Okay,” Beric felt his resolve give way. No doubt this Harry Strickland fellow had the very best in veterinarian care. Not even Oberyn could do too much damage. And the elephant would probably appreciate losing all of her memories for the last twelve hours, unlike the rest of them.

“Excellent,” Oberyn clapped his hands. “I will be in my laboratory.”

“He means the bathroom,” Robert said sagely, as if neither Beric or Mace could have figured that out on their own.

“We really should get a doctor to look at him at some point,” Beric muttered to Mace. Three years of being on the football team with Robert had taught him that it was very difficult to tell if the quarterback had a concussion. Sometimes it was just Robert being Robert.

“As soon as we get my ring back,” Mace set his jaw.

There was a ding of someone getting a text. 

“Mace?” Oberyn said lightly from the bathroom. “Could you come here a moment?” 

Mace sighed and went to join his roommate. 

“Want a drink?” Robert said hopefully.

“No thank you,” Beric replied. Robert shook his head in disappointment and began looking through the cupboards. Beric thought about pointing out the correct one, but decided it was best to keep their most destructive friend productively occupied.

“Beric?” Mace called from the bathroom. “Would you mind coming in here?”

Beric frowned. Yes, he did mind wedging himself into a bathroom with Mace and Oberyn just a little bit. But fine.

“What’s up?” He poked his head in.

“Close the door,” Oberyn whispered. Beric mentally groaned, but shuffled in and shut the door.

“I just got this text,” Oberyn said in a low voice, and showed him the phone.

_If you ever want to see your friend N again, you will return my $60k. 5pm. The sewage treatment plant. The Tattered Prince_

“The Tattered Prince?!” Beric felt his eyes bug out. “That’s the owner of the Canvas Castle! You stole from him?!”

“I don’t know!” Oberyn whispered back. “I do a lot of stupid stuff when I’m drunk!”

“We have to tell Robert,” Beric groaned. 

“Robert is the last person we should tell,” Mace interjected. “He will absolutely freak out, and realistically, what can he contribute to this situation?”

“Maybe $60k?!” Beric snapped. “Unless Oberyn manages to remember what he did with it.”

“We already turned this suite upside down looking for my ring,” Mace ran a hand through his hair, tugging on it anxiously. Beric wished he wouldn’t do that. It was thin enough already. “And that fellow Tristan Rivers said he searched our suite too. Wherever the $60k is, it’s not here.”

“Look, of the four of us, Robert is the only one with parents who might not notice that they are missing $60k for long enough for us to find the money Oberyn stole. We have to tell him.”

“Tell who what?” A fourth voice entered their conversation. Beric nearly yelped, but it was just Thoros. “I wish you guys wouldn’t leave Robert unattended,” Thoros continued somewhat reprovingly. “You know he needs adult supervision.”

Beric quickly caught Thoros up.

“Huh,” Thoros frowned. “I agree with Mace. We should definitely not tell Robert,” Mace smiled smugly. “We should return the elephant, get the ring back and then take it to a pawn shop and get the money that way.”

“What?!” Mace did yelp.

“Think about it. We can get $60k easy from a pawn shop. Then you’ll have the ticket to get the ring back. Ned is the person most likely to remember what happened to that money—he likely wasn’t drinking, and he’d disappeared long before Oberyn foisted that burning hangover cure on us. So we return the elephant, pawn the ring, rescue Ned, find the $60k, bring it to the pawn shop then use it to reclaim the ring.” Thoros explained in a satisfied way. Beric had to admit, it was a reasonable plan.

Oberyn, who had been abstaining from this conversation to crush assorted pills, despite the entire situation being very much his fault, looked up from his work.

“I’m done,” he announced. “This elephant will be downright euphoric once it ingests this.”

“How are we getting the elephant to eat that powder?” Beric peeked at it dubiously. 

“I brought some bananas,” Thoros offered. “Maybe we can mush it up into banana chunks?”

“Do elephants eat bananas?” Beric scrunched his face. “What do elephants eat?”

“Last night you were under the impression that they ate mice,” Oberyn told him drily.

“Erm we seem to have a few of those around as well. But let’s stick with bananas,” Beric said hastily.

“After you,” Oberyn gave an elaborate bow. 

“What?! Why is this my responsibility?” Beric demanded. 

“You and Thoros stole the elephant,” Mace informed him flatly. “You and Thoros are getting it back.”

“And pawning the ring,” Oberyn added.

“And rescuing Ned,” Mace finished.

“Excuse me?!” Thoros tilted his head. “You lost me on that last part.”

“Look, it’s already 3pm. You and Beric have to drop off the elephant. You also have to be part of the group that pawns the ring and rescues Ned, because you’re the only person who speaks Valyrian. Ergo, you need to go straight from Harry Strickland’s to the pawn shop, and straight from the pawn shop to the sewage treatment plant, wherever that is,” Oberyn crossed his arms.

“I know where that is,” Thoros grumbled, kind of proving Oberyn’s point.

“And what will you two be doing during all of this?” Beric asked frostily. Even if he followed Oberyn’s logic, it seemed a little unfair that they would be doing all of the work for a mess that was ninety percent Oberyn’s making.

“Taking Robert to the hospital,” Mace gave Beric an angelic smile. “Weren’t you just saying that we should be doing that?”

Thoros groaned.

“I’ll get the bananas.”


	81. Mel/Jaim (Hangover in Myr 8 of 11)

Davos and Marya had been arguing heatedly when they got on that rickety bucket of a rowboat. When they returned, it was clear a dramatic shift in mood had taken place. 

Marya was laughing, her dark curls bouncing in the breeze and Davos was pushing his brown hair back ruefully. He jumped out into the water to bring the rowboat to shore, sloshing through the icy cold, his pants rolled up, to bring her to shore. Then he held one hand out like a gentleman to help Marya down and she pecked him on the cheek and his face flushed. They were adorable, like they had wandered out of a nineteenth century oil painting of a date and Melisandre hated them.

She rolled her eyes over to Stannis to see if he hated them too, but he was looking firmly down at his book and not talking to her.

Once, just once, couldn’t they be the amazing functional couple? The one everyone crooned over? Like how Renly and Cersei had gagged over Jaime and Brienne with jealousy? 

Thoros and Beric never fought. Like ever. And that was so unfair, because Thoros was a non-functional human. And Beric was in his own way much more finicky than Stannis. Melisandre was so functional! She had her shit together! And Thoros’ shit! And Stannis’! 

And Robert and Cersei fought all the time, but in the violent explosions and screaming soap opera kind of way where they were clearly having crazy hot make-up sex afterwards. Sometimes it seemed like the fights were really just foreplay for the crazy hot make-up sex. 

No Melisandre and Stannis were the only people in the world who could possibly be this dysfunctional. Like spend two hours in silence at a beautiful lake dysfunctional because they were in a cold war over who would apologize first.

Was it her turn? Stannis had apologized first for making a stink about coming to her brother’s birthday party, but hadn’t she been the one to talk them out of their funk when they each thought the other was judging them for their sexual history? Maybe it wasn’t mature to wonder whose turn it was to apologize first. Ugh that sounded right. She opened her mouth.

“I’m sorry,” they both said at exactly the same time.

“Maybe Marya does fuss over her siblings too much. It’s Saturday on a spring break. She can let them alone for an afternoon.” Melisandre said quickly. “And she definitely contributed to the lateness.”

“I brought those snacks for you, I would have been upset if you HADN’T eaten them.”

“I love that you brought snacks for me.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Melisandre smiled and Stannis leaned over and timidly kissed her even though Davos and Marya were within their line of vision and Stannis normally hated to do that kind of thing in front of people.

“You guys are just the cutest,” Marya chirped. “Aren’t they, Davos?”

Davos looked at them suspiciously. He knew it was out of character. Something had happened, he could sense it, but he couldn’t figure out what. Melisandre nearly smirked to see the wheels in his head turning.

“Davos!” Marya nudged him.

“The cutest,” he repeated stoically, green eyes still scanning warily. Melisandre gave him a coy smile.

“Want to try paddleboarding?” Melisandre asked Stannis. He mumbled something about giardia and price gouging. “We’re going paddleboarding,” she beamed at Davos and Marya.

“Oh you should! There’s something about having a man to row you around,” Marya giggled, wrapping her arms around Davos.

Stannis sighed and got up to procure a paddleboard.

“I was just telling Davos how jealous I am of the two of you,” Marya confided softly, spreading her towel next to Melisandre’s. 

“What?!” Melisandre felt genuinely startled.

“I mean you and Stannis always seem so comfortable with each other. Every date I’ve ever been on with Davos, we’re the most wretchedly awkward people imaginable. And the two of you never fight! How do you do it?!”

Melisandre considered that just maybe she was learning a valuable lesson in perspective. Then she tossed her hair.

“Well communication is key,” she began earnestly. Davos started coughing.

“Do you need some water?” She asked sweetly.

Stannis came back, inspecting the remaining cash in his wallet dolefully.

“We’ll catch up later,” Melisandre squeezed Marya on the shoulder. Just then, Stannis’ cell phone rang. Melisandre glanced at it. It was a picture of Robert sneezing.

“Your brother is calling,” she gave a sphinxlike smile. “Perhaps he ran out of applesauce? Or needs a teddy bear? You better pick that up.”

Stannis looked down. He practically twitched toward the phone. Then he looked back at her. 

“It’s fine, no need to fuss.” 

“Are you sure?” She cooed. “He doesn’t call very often. It could be an emergency.”

“Don’t be silly,” Stannis gave a wan smile. “How much trouble could…Robert…get into?” He looked almost queasy by the end of that thought.

“You’re right, no need to fuss,” Melisandre patted him on the head. “Best leave that phone here. We don’t want it accidentally getting wet.”

Stannis slowly followed her to the lake, looking backward at the phone for every two steps he took forward.

She climbed on, squeaking slightly as the board rocked in the tiny waves. Why did a lake even have waves?!

“Have you ever done this before?” Stannis asked doubtfully. Melisandre did not really consider herself a lake person. But you sat on a board and paddled. It hardly seemed like rocket science.

And it wasn’t. Because science took brains, not brawn and a ridiculous amount of balance. They got about six paddles out when Melisandre tipped them over with a yelp. They got back on. She tipped them again.

“Do you want to try?” She asked wearily. Stannis glanced doubtfully at the paddle, but took it. He appeared to have a natural aptitude for it, and the grace not to say a word. She closed her eyes, and let the sun slowly warm her from the frigid water.

He paddled them all the way out into the center of the lake, and then started exploring the coast line.

“Oh look, a Goshen hawk,” Stannis remarked. Melisandre opened one eye. Stannis had a somewhat glazed expression on his face.

“You hate this, don’t you?” She asked drily.

“It is a little dull,” he admitted. “And a highly inefficient means of transportation.” 

She sat up. 

“Sometimes I think I don’t deserve you,” she said. Stannis blushed.

~~~~

“I love winning,” Jaime smiled blissfully as he dumped another twenty dragons into their cash box. 

“We are the best,” Cersei agreed, blowing a kiss at a twitterpated father as he drove away. There was a blaring of car horns as he nearly drove into oncoming traffic.

“Brienne is so beautiful when she’s angry,” Jaime shot a fond look over his shoulder. Although to be fair, she didn’t look angry at the moment so much as upset. She had her head together with Jorah, completely neglecting the cars that were pulling in.

“I still find that gross,” Cersei scrunched her nose.

“That? Like our beautiful blossom of a relationship?”

“No, that like the giant blond wildebeest you’ve captured,” Cersei sneered, although with little malice.

“Darling sister,” Jaime patted her hand. “Just accept that you’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” Cersei gave a tinkling bell-like laugh, one that Jaime happened to know was completely fake. “Jealous of what?”

“Our beautiful blossom of a relationship,” Jaime said serenely.

“I happen to be in a relationship!” Cersei glared.

“Your relationship is not a flower. Your relationship is one of those landfill fires where the fire has caught the rubber tires and the entire village gathers around and wonders how long it can possibly burn, spewing its noxious poisons into the atmosphere,” Jaime picked up a sponge.

“At least I’m having sex,” Cersei yawned. Touché. 

“I’m going to talk to Brienne,” Jaime announced, to avoid having to come up with a retort.

“I have a perfectly normal relationship!” Cersei shouted after him. 

“What’s up wench?” Jaime said as he approached the two freshmen. Brienne looked up guiltily. Jorah looked up terrified. A baby looked up disinterestedly.

“Glak,” the baby said.

“What?” Jaime blinked.

“She said glak,” Jorah put in helpfully. 

“No, like, what is this entire situation?!” Jaime waved his hands. “Brienne, I leave you alone for ten minutes and you have a baby with Jorah?!”

“Very funny,” Brienne ground out. “That woman left it here. The one who chose us.”

“And I’m sure she’s glad she did,” Jaime smirked. “Baby-snatchers.”

“This is like a temporary situation, right?” Jorah blurted. “She’s going to drive two blocks and turn around?”

“You know who that was right?” Jaime winced. 

They both shook their heads.

“That was the mayor’s wife. You know the one whose son died a couple months ago? She might be a little... out of it.”

“People!” Catelyn Tully shouted behind them. She had been shouting all day, making her voice a little raspier and scarier than Jaime was used to. You had to concentrate to understand her. “What are we doing just standing around? There are cars that need to be—Jorah, what on earth are you holding?”

There was a long awkward pause. 

“This is my baby cousin Darcy Mormont,” Jorah finally said shiftily. Jaime considered. Not a terrible lie. The baby was like a really really really blonde Mormont.

“Why are you babysitting your cousin when you are supposed to be washing cars?!” Catelyn hissed in a barely intelligible snarl, clutching her throat. Jaime considered that she might have the makings of a psychotic dictator.

“He’ll give him back to Maege in a sec,” Jaime waved his hand. He knew without looking that Brienne would be no help at all in extricating them from this. She was a terrible liar. It was one of her many endearing quirks.

“He’d better,” Catelyn frowned. “I will be circling back around to make sure that baby’s gone. Just as soon as I get my lazy brother and his girlfriend off their asses!” She marched off.

“Girlfriend?! What did she mean by girlfriend?!” Jorah squeaked, shoving the baby at Jaime. The baby immediately started to wail. 

“I’m sure it was a figure of speech,” Brienne said soothingly. Unsoothed, Jorah hurried off to talk to Lynesse. When Jaime tried to hand off the screeching infant to her, she danced back.

“You take her!” Brienne said. “You heard, Catelyn, the baby has to be gone when she comes back.”

“How is that my problem?” Jaime raised his eyebrows. 

“Please,” Brienne begged, casting a nervous look at Catelyn. “She looked like she was about to string me up.”

“Fine,” Jaime tried to pull some of his hair out of the creature’s sticky little claw. “The things I do for love.”

Five minutes later, he cleared his throat behind his sister, who now sunbathing on the hood of the car she was supposed to be washing. The driver did not seem entirely averse.

“Oh there you are,” Cersei lifted her head. “It’s your turn to do this one.”

“I brought you something,” he shoved the baby at her. Babies liked Cersei. It was a mystery.

“You shouldn’t have,” Cersei drawled, taking it. The baby was not as enraged as she had been with Jaime, although not quite as content as with Jorah.

“Is this a Targaryen?” Cersei asked, inspecting the white hair.

“Yep,” Jaime said. “Aerys’ youngest. Don’t let Tully see you with it.”

“I can see the headlines now,” Cersei sighed. “Lannister Twins abduct mayor’s child in bizarre revenge plot.”

“I’m not taking the fall for this,” Jaime snorted. “It’s Brienne’s baby.”

“I thought your relationship was a blossoming flower.”

“Kids really kill the romance.”

There was the sound of a phone ringing. Jaime glanced at Cersei’s cell. 

“Oh look, tire fire is calling for his daily check in.”

Cersei glared at him, and shifted the baby to her hip. The baby immediately starting to cry again.

“Oh don’t cry sweetling,” Cersei crooned. “I’ll be with you in a second, beautiful.”

She flipped the phone open.

“Robby, it’s not a good—what do you mean you lost a tooth?! Of course I’m mad! And wait, what?! No I don’t know anybody at the Myrrish embassy. No I can’t bail you out of this mess right this second, I’ve got... look, can you just... for the love of the gods SHUT UP! MY MORONIC BROTHER HAS KIDNAPPED THE MAYOR’S BABY! I can only deal with one freakishly improbable problem at a time!”

Cersei hung up angrily. Jaime stared at her.

“We have a completely normal relationship,” she hissed. “Now take this baby. I’m going to call Elia and see if she still has Rhaella’s number.”

The baby shared Jaime’s antipathy to that suggestion. Catelyn appeared to be occupied haranguing her brother, so Jaime returned the sobbing menace to Jorah. She immediately stopped crying.

“What did you do to her?” Jorah glared, quickly grabbing her away. Good riddance.

“Cersei is tracking down her mother,” Jaime announced.

“Oh thank you,” Brienne smiled at him. 

“It’s the least I can do,” Jaime said magnanimously. “After I beat you at car washing so very badly.”

“The day’s not over yet,” Brienne pouted. 

“Not for another twenty minutes. We’re only up like a hundred dragons,” Jaime wrapped his arm around her shoulder. Now that spring was creeping back, Brienne’s freckles were starting to make a reappearance. He wanted to kiss each one.

“Jaime,” Brienne shrugged him off as he kissed her neck. “Not here,” she flushed and quickly pecked him on the lips. 

“The baby hated me,” she sighed. “I should warn you I’m terrible with children.”

“Me too,” Jaime admitted. “But Renly adores you.”

“Renly’s not a child, he’s an adult trapped in a child’s body,” Brienne rolled her eyes.

“Well Cersei is wonderful with children, and what does that tell you? Children have bad taste,” Jaime grinned. 

“Tully’s coming!” Jorah whispered frantically, running over at a speed probably not safe when clutching a baby to one’s chest. “What do I do?”

Brienne glanced at Jaime, but there was no time to come up with a plan, Catelyn was almost on top of them, like some kind of avenging wraith.

“JORAH MORMONT!” Catelyn put her hands on her hips. “No lies! Who’s child is this?!”

“My baby!” Rhaella Targaryen jumped out of her car and scooped her from Jorah’s arms. The baby started to cry again. “I’m so sorry about that, I don’t know where my head has been lately.”

“Think nothing of it,” Brienne said graciously.

“That lovely Cersei Lannister just called, I was already halfway home! You two were so wonderful, how can I possibly thank you?!”

“That’s really not necessary,” Brienne began, but Rhaella was already pulling out her wallet.

“Two hundred dragons,” she pressed them into Jorah’s hands. “Nothing compared to knowing my daughter was safe.”

Jaime goggled.

“Here you go,” Jorah handed the money to Catelyn, who also looked dumbstruck. “The freshman class would like to contribute another two hundred dragons to our total. I believe that puts us in the lead?”

“But,” Jaime sputtered.

“Don’t worry,” Brienne said sweetly. “The day’s not over for another twenty minutes.”


	82. Mace (Hangover in Myr 9 of 11)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's something different about the story summary... what could it beeee :D

Mace watched as Thoros gingerly fed the elephant another banana from behind the couch that was still blockading his and Oberyn’s room. Well behind him, Beric was providing moral support, as evidence by the occasional ‘Be careful!’ and ‘Eep!’ every time the trunk got too close to Thoros’ head.

“Wow, you’re really good at this,” Robert stared. “You’re like... an elephant whisperer.”

“Right?!” Thoros beamed. “Maybe I should keep her.”

“You’re not keeping her,” Beric and Mace said together.

“I NEED that ring back,” Mace added huffily. He wasn’t sure Thoros was quite grasping the existential threat of Olenna Tyrell. To be fair, you kind of had to meet her to understand, and Thoros did not frequent the college advisor offices.

“Okay that’s the last of them,” Thoros glanced at his empty plate. “How long before the drugs kick in, Oberyn?”

“Now-ish,” Oberyn shrugged.

“What do you mean by ‘ish’?” Beric said suspiciously.

“I mean I’m not an elephant doctor,” Oberyn tsked reprovingly. “But better go now, because she seems happy enough at the moment and you don’t want them wearing off before you get there.”

“Good enough for me,” Thoros said, and began to move the couch out of the way. Mace immediately took shelter in the doorway of Beric and Thoros’ room, fully prepared to slam the door shut and lock it if there was a stampede. Oberyn was only half a step behind him. Robert continued watching television, supremely unconcerned.

Thoros proffered a peanut, and the elephant slowly shuffled out, trunk grasping forward toward Thoros. Step by step they progressed through the living room, before Beric opened the door out to the hall.

“Bye!” Robert waved. “Good luck! Have fun!”

“Can somebody please get him to a hospital?” Beric called as they disappeared down the hallway.

“Well it beats getting an elephant to a gangster,” Oberyn smirked once the door was shut and Mace was inclined to agree.

“C’mon, let’s go to the hospital and look for Ned,” Mace turned the television off. Robert promptly stood up to follow.

They once more gave the bellhop their valet ticket, and waited for the Rolls Royce to appear.

“I’m driving!” Robert announced the moment the car pulled to a halt.

“It’s my car!” Oberyn protested.

“Is it?” Mace scrunched his face up dubiously. It was somebody’s car, that’s for sure.

“Whose side are you on?!” Oberyn said in an outraged whisper. Fair point. 

“Why don’t we let Oberyn drive?” Mace suggested to Robert.

“Why don’t we let Oberyn arm wrestle for it?” Robert grinned. Oberyn and Mace exchanged glances. 

“Or you can drive,” Oberyn sighed.

Robert was a far scarier driver than Thoros, and that was frankly a high bar. In addition to the serene disregard for traffic laws, he seemed to have trouble staying on the right instead of the left. Mace gave up trying to backseat drive, because Robert would just turn to look at him when he said something and only Oberyn’s quick reflexes grabbing the wheel had saved them from swiping a baby carriage.

“Okay, Bakkalon General Hospital, take a left,” Oberyn was saying. Robert spun the wheel.

“Stay right!” Mace shouted as they swerved into oncoming traffic.

“What?” Robert turned to look at Mace. Oberyn grabbed the wheel once more and got them on the correct side of the road.

“Never mind,” Mace mumbled. And that’s when they heard the sirens.

“Seven hells,” Mace buried his head in his hands.

“That’s not for me is it?” Robert frowned, pulling over. “Thoros said they didn’t pull over cars with diplomatic plates.”

“Just act cool, Mace,” Oberyn hissed. “Robert, for Mother’s mercy, keep your mouth shut.”

A cop slowly got out of the vehicle and walked toward them. He tapped on the driver’s window.

Robert sighed and rolled it down.

“Is this about the wrong turn, officer?” Oberyn leaned over and gave his most charming grin. “I’m sorry, my driver and I aren’t from here.”

The officer didn’t smile back.

“These plates are registered to the Volantene ambassador,” he said gruffly.

“That’s right,” Oberyn didn’t miss a beat. “The driving rules in Volantis are rather different.”

“The Volantene ambassador reported his car stolen last night,” the officer said coldly.

“Oh,” Oberyn swallowed. “Yes, I can see how there might have been some confusion, but as you can see, we’ve recovered the—“

“All of you, get out,” the officer sneered. “You can tell me more about the driving rules in Volantis on the way to the police station.”

“Smooth talking Oberyn,” Robert snarked, as they squished into the back of the police car.

“Oh like you would have done any better,” Oberyn rolled his eyes.

“No, he’s right,” Mace snapped. “We all got fucked up, but you were the one who poisoned us and stole a car and then got Ned kid—“ Oberyn elbowed him hard in the gut.

“Got Ned kid what?” Robert frowned. Oh shit. Think fast, Mace.

“Got naked!” Mace blurted. “He slept completely naked in the bed with everybody!”

“I didn’t realize you were so sensitive about nudity,” Robert raised an eyebrow.

“Um, yes,” Mace twisted for the right words. “I find it very upsetting.” Oberyn snorted. Ass.

“Maybe that’s why you were still a virgin,” Robert said pensively. What?! Thoros and Beric had told them?! When had they even found time to do that?!

“I wasn’t a virgin,” Mace lied unconvincingly. Even the police officer up front looked unconvinced.

“Okay, Mr. Ambassador,” the officer parked the car and looked back. “Give me your left hand.”

Oberyn uncertainly extended his left hand, only to get handcuffs slapped on the wrist.

“Your right hand, Mr. Virgin,” the officer sneered. The other end of the handcuffs was secured to Mace. They repeated the same process for Mr. Virgin’s left hand and Mr. Driver’s right hand.

“Now follow me,” the officer snapped and got out of the car. Oberyn and Robert each tried to get out of the car on their own side, and Mace yelped as he was jerked between them.

There was a brief unspoken tug of war, which predictably ended in Robert’s favor. He emerged from the car triumphant, dragging Mace and Oberyn after him like cans on a string.

“This is ruining handcuffs for me,” Oberyn sulked.

The officer mumbled something to himself about damned Westerosi tourists.

“Excuse me,” Mace tried to catch up with him. “But there’s been some mistake. This is an accident, we don’t even know how we ended up with this car.”

“Yes, I’m sure you accidentally got into the Volantene ambassador’s guarded compound and accidentally drove away with his personal vehicle,” the officer opened a door and led them down a long hall.

“Don’t we get a phone call?” Mace tried again desperately. This was starting to feel like an Olenna Tyrell problem. She wouldn’t just leave her only son in some pit of a Myrrish prison. Would she?

The officer stopped and arched his eyebrows.

“Of course. You each get a phone call. Within twenty-four hours of incarceration.”

“TWENTY-FOUR HOURS?!” Mace nearly had a coronary then and there. “I can’t be in jail for twenty-four hours! We have a plane leaving tonight!”

If that jet landed in King’s Landing without him, he didn’t even want to think of what his mother would do. Or not do.

“It is unfortunate that your predilection for grand theft auto has interfered with your travel schedule,” the officer sneered. He unlocked the door to an enormous holding cell, filled with at least thirty other people in various stages of squalor. “In you go,” the officer banged the cell bars with his baton.

“You don’t have something more... private?” Mace winced. 

“Don’t worry Mr. Virgin,” the officer gave him a humorless smile. “They’ll take good care of you.”

Mace really was having a coronary. He could feel it. Shooting pains up and down his left arm. Oh wait, that was Robert twisting the handcuffs in his quest to scratch his ass.

“Don’t worry,” Oberyn patted Mace on the shoulder as the door clanged shut. “At least you have us.”

“SOMEBODY HELP ME!” Mace screamed.

Across the cell, a Dothraki biker stood up. He cracked his neck, and then strode across the concrete toward them.

“Er I don’t think he meant you specifically,” Oberyn said to the Dothraki, trying to deescalate this. Whatever this was.

The biker grunted. Then he punched an unsuspecting Robert in the gut.

Mace really wished the biker hadn’t done that. Robert slowly straightened, his dark blue eyes narrowing to slits under his shaggy black hair. Then with a roar he charged, and there were Mace and Oberyn along for the ride.

Robert hit low, and then all four of them were on the floor. Oberyn was more or less out of the way, but every time Robert punched with his right hand, Mace was dragged along. And Robert appeared to have entered some kind of snarling spitting punching frenzy. Then when that was exhausted and the biker was no longer moving, he wound the handcuffs around the biker’s neck and started choking him.

Mace wondered if you could be an accessory to murder if someone used your left hand to cut off their opponent’s air supply.

He was saved from that scenario when another Dothraki tapped Robert on the shoulder. Robert dropped his prey and grunted.

This Dothraki took his fist back for a punch, only to have Robert drive him into the wall, with a sickening crunch of something snapping beneath Robert’s mass. A spatter of blood caught Mace in the face. 

“Robert, on your six,” Oberyn called out as yet another Dothraki tried to approach. Robert turned, his teeth bared. The Dothraki gulped, but it was too late. With a feral cry, Robert launched himself at the newcomer. Mace gritted his teeth as his shoulder attempted to escape its socket.

“Enough!” The baton cracked again on the steel bars, and the sound reverberated through Mace’s back molars. Robert’s pile of victims was now four, approaching five as he twisted viciously at a man’s ear pinned below him. 

“They started it,” Robert said sulkily. His lip had split, which complimented his black eye nicely. He spat some blood on the floor.

“You!” It was the same officer as before and his face had turned a dark red. “I don’t care who started it! Just get out here and you can have your fucking phone call!”

Robert obediently trotted for the door, Mace and Oberyn scrambling to get to their feet before they got dragged again.

Rather than unlock them, the officer simply shoved Robert into a phone booth and closed the door as much as he could while Oberyn and Mace waited. It was a long wait. 

“Stannis isn’t picking up,” Robert huffed, sticking his head back out the door. “I’m going to try Cersei.” Another long pause. “She hung up on me,” Robert whined. 

“Why don’t you call someone who’s actually in Myr and can help us?” Oberyn suggested in a silky voice.

“But Ned left his cell phone in the toilet!”

“Thoros! The correct answer was Thoros!” Oberyn snapped.

A third interminable wait.

“He said he’s on his way,” Robert reported back grudgingly. “And he wanted me to give you a message. He said you would know what it meant.”

“Okay,” Mace braced himself.

“There was a mix up with the package,” Robert said slowly.

“What?” Mace frowned. He glanced at Oberyn who looked equally bewildered.

“Are you sure you’re saying it right?” Mace asked hesitantly.

“That’s what he said. There was a mix up with the package,” Robert repeated stubbornly.

Well didn’t that sound ominous. Still, they could figure out what it meant after Mace had spoken to his mother. He wasn’t exactly sure what she would do, just that it would be terrifying to behold. And this entire police station was overdue for some Queen of Thorns style retribution.

“My turn,” he said to the officer.

“What turn?” The officer laughed.

“My phone call,” Mace said testily.

“Three phone calls,” the office waggled his finger at each of them in turn. “One. Two. Three. He just made them.”

This time, Mace knew he was having a heart attack. He was sure of it.


	83. Thoros (Hangover in Myr 10 of 11)

“So who exactly owns this elephant?” Beric asked, flinching as she caressed his head with her trunk. Awwww.

“She likes you!” Thoros grinned, feeding her another peanut. Good girl. “Homeless Harry Strickland.”

“Why’s he homeless?” Beric frowned.

“He’s not really,” Thoros shrugged. “He has a mega mansion off the fourth hole.”

They were cutting through the Magister’s Suites’ luxury golf course, which seemed more advisable than taking their elephant along the street. Presumably they had come this way last night as well. Thank the Lord it was too hot for there to be much in the way of golfing.

“So why do they call him that?” Beric pressed.

“Um he’s tried to settle down in a lot of the Free Cities and then had to leave in a hurry,” Thoros said airily, trying to keep Beric’s blood pressure low. Beric wasn’t having it.

“Why did he have to leave?” Beric growled.

“Reasons?” Thoros fed the elephant another peanut so he could avoid looking at Beric. Murder was a reason.

“I feel like you’re being very cavalier about this,” Beric huffed. Thoros sighed.

“I’m sorry. I just don’t see that we have much in the way of options,” Thoros admitted. 

“You could have not taken the elephant,” Beric remarked.

“How do we know it was me?! Oberyn definitely said it was both of us.”

“Yeah but you’re the one obsessed with them.”

“You’re the one who can’t say no to me.”

Beric gave him a look.

“I just happen to think they are very noble and smart,” Thoros gave the pygmy elephant a tentative pat on her side. “Who’s a good girl?”

Beric made a disgruntled noise.

“I’m sorry,” Thoros stopped and looked at Beric plaintively. “Really sorry. I promise I’ll never steal another elephant for as long I live.”

Beric tried to maintain a stern expression but Thoros knew he was constitutionally incapable of staying mad. Thoros pulled him into a hug.

“I promise nothing’s going to happen to you,” he said into Beric’s shoulder. The elephant licked Beric’s head. “Except for that.”

Beric pulled a face, a tuft of his blond hair sticking straight up, matted with elephant slobber.

“Maybe I’m worried about something happening to you,” he poked Thoros. “My priest has a habit of doing things he shouldn’t.”

“Think how boring your life would be if I didn’t,” Thoros winked. He wished he could kiss him—they’d literally had thirty seconds together this entire trip—but they were already here.

“Voila,” Thoros gave an elaborate wave of the hand like the mansion was something he had produced. He rang the buzzer and after a pause, the gate swung open.

“You made good time,” Tristan Rivers grunted as he took them back to the pen.

“She’s a sweetheart,” Thoros smiled. Tristan looked disappointed. Perhaps he had been looking forward to not having to take care of his boss’ exotic pet.

“Well a deal’s a deal,” he grumbled and tossed them Mace’s mother’s ring. “Say, you don’t happen to know any good bare knuckle brawlers do you? The Golden Company is out a fighter and it’s fucking embarrassing to forfeit. I was expecting us to get through the first round at least.”

“Sorry,” Beric had grabbed Thoros’ shoulder and started to walk him out before he could volunteer. “We are meeting up with a friend and have to run.”

“You are not fighting in a Myrrish underworld boxing tournament!” Beric scolded him. 

“You don’t know that I was going to volunteer,” Thoros replied defensively. Seemed like it would have been a good way to make some money tax-free. Sure he wouldn’t have WON, but he bet he could catch a drunken thug or two off guard. Made it to the second round at least.

“You were absolutely going to volunteer,” Beric rolled his eyes. “Where’s the pawn shop?” 

Pawning Mace’s ring was almost as easy as exchanging it for an elephant.

“Don’t lose that,” Thoros said, patting the ticket into Beric’s pocket. “Poor Mace has had a rough twenty-four hours.”

“Haven’t we all,” Beric sighed.

“Not as rough as Ned, I suppose,” Thoros hailed a bus for them. “I wonder what he’s going to tell us.”

“Probably that we got wasted and fucked off to steal an elephant. Robert got into a fight and got bounced. Mace went home with a stripper and Oberyn went home with...”

“Somebody,” Thoros sniggered. As long as it wasn’t him. Or Beric.

“Tell me about the Tattered Prince,” Beric said, his teeth rattling as the bus hit every pothole on the road out of town. Thoros hoped he didn’t get car sick. They were on this thing until the end of the line.

“He’s from Pentos,” Thoros said. “A prince, allegedly, but who knows. He’s in his seventies, and nobility records are shit in Essos. As far as I’ve heard, he’s not inherently violent. Probably just wants his money back.”

“I can’t believe Oberyn swiped sixty thousand dragons,” Beric groaned.

“You mean the recreational druggie and sex addict also steals?” Thoros smirked.

“He’s loaded! His family owns half of Dorne. I’m like a grimy peasant compared to him,” Beric ran his hands through his hair, scowling when his fingers caught on dried elephant spittle.

“I shudder to think what that makes me,” Thoros said drily. It was another twenty-five minutes before the bus came to a groaning halt, near where all the rivers fed into the Sea of Myrth. This was where the sewage treatment plant was, and the stench was peculiar. Thoros decided not to tell Beric that this was a popular spot for clandestine dumping of bodies.

They walked down the road for a minute or two. It was Saturday so the plant would be closed. Presumably they just needed to show up and the Tattered Prince would find them? Thoros had never done a hostage exchange before.

They crossed the parking lot, and Thoros tried the door of the plant. It was locked.

“Are we early?” He asked Beric nervously. Beric checked his watch.

“Two minutes early. Do you want to hear about the history of the Sea of Myrth?”

“Sure,” Thoros sighed.

“Well too bad. Maybe you should have thought of that before you said my guide book was annoying.”

“I was trying to keep you from getting kidnapped!”

“Which seems to be an occupational hazard around here.”

“You’re not wrong. You know, I’m changing my answer.”

“What answer?”

“That question you asked me on the beach the first time we met. Where I could live if I could live anywhere and I said Myr.”

“Okay, What are you changing it to?”

“With you,” Thoros grinned. Beric’s lip twitched and then a silly smile spread across his face.

“Fine. I forgive you for the guide book. But you also called me whiny.”

Thoros was saved from having to answer by a sleek black car pulling up. It was another Rolls Royce. And it had diplomatic plates. Perhaps the Tattered Prince really was a prince from Pentos.

“Look,” Beric nudged him. In the back, sandwiched between two burly guards, was a person wearing a black hood over his head. “Ned!”

Thoros squinted. The person seemed a little short for Ned. But who else could it be?

The lights on the car flashed at them.

“What do we do?” Beric asked.

“This would be easier if we had a car as well,” Thoros mused, but settled for waving. Honestly, this formality was a little ridiculous. Who else would be spending their Saturday at a sewage treatment facility? A driver hopped out of the car and then scurried around to the passenger’s side to open the door and help a man out.

The man who stepped out had gray hair and leaned heavily on a cane. Around his shoulders was draped a patchwork quilt of a thousand various colors, although they had all been bleached by age and the elements.

Thoros frowned. He had a good memory for faces, and yet there was something about the Tattered Prince’s features that his eye couldn’t quite hold. No defining characteristics. If he saw him on the street tomorrow without the quilt, Thoros suspected he would never recognize him. But there was one thing he knew in his bones. That limp and the whole act with the cane were fake.

“I apologize for the confusion,” the Tattered Prince said calmly in Common. “Your friend and I have such similar cars, you can appreciate how the mix up happened.”

Thoros and Beric exchanged glances.

“Mix up?” Thoros said uncertainly.

“Yes, I gave one of the bouncers instructions to store my winnings in the black Rolls Royce sedan with the diplomatic plates. Imagine my dismay when I discovered there were in fact two cars matching that description at the Windblown last night!”

Beric sighed audibly in relief. Thoros didn’t blame him. Honestly, this was the first lucky break they’d gotten all day. Oberyn hadn’t stolen the money. 

“And dismay didn’t begin to cover the bouncer’s feelings,” the Tattered Prince smiled grimly. “But rest assured. He won’t be making that mistake again. Or any other.”

Of course they were still dealing with an elderly psychopath who thought that kidnapping a hostage was an appropriate response to a sitcom style mixup.

“Then, when I tracked down the driver of the car, and she said the car was no longer in her possession… well you can understand why I got a little concerned that precautions would be needed to secure the return of my funds.”

“Indeed,” Thoros said, as if he too often grabbed people off the street. Crazy people can sense fear.

“Give us Ned,” Beric suddenly said. The Tattered Prince’s speech did not seem to have sat particularly well with him.

“Ned? What a charming nickname,” the man said coolly. “I suppose you’ll be wanting to confirm that your friend is undamaged.” He clapped his hands.

The guards hoisted the struggling hooded figure out of the car. Thoros had a sinking feeling. It was definitely too small to be Ned. And unless he was very much mistaken (and he was a little out of practice), he thought he detected cleavage under the billowy shirt.

With a flourish, the guard unmasked their captive.

A strikingly beautiful girl stared back at them. She had high cheekbones and full wine-red lips and Thoros was quite positive that he had never seen her before in his life.

“That’s not Ned,” Beric sputtered. “You said you had Ned!”

“Did Oberyn send you to rescue me?” The girl demanded in Volantene Valyrian, tossing her shimmering black hair. Definitely Old Blood.

“I said I had N. In the context of the mix up that had occurred last night, I should have thought it was obvious that I was referring to Nymeria Vhassar, daughter of the Volantene ambassador Nyessos Vhassar and owner of the vehicle of which you are in possession,” the Tattered Prince placed both hands on his cane and planted his feet.

Thoros wondered if the cane was actually a gun. Or a sword. Certainly, the Tattered Prince seemed prepared to beat them over the head with it if his money did not appear promptly.

“What happened to the money in the car?!” Thoros said quickly to Nymeria in Valyrian.

“I told them already, I don’t know!” The girl sniffed haughtily. “It was a duffel bag of cash. Oberyn said he gave it to you guys! He said it was safer than safe!”

“Things are hardly safer than safe,” the Tattered Prince hissed in Valyrian, abruptly joining the conversation. “Now I will have my money. Or I will have blood.”

“Please don’t let them hurt me!” Nymeria flung herself into Beric’s chest. He looked taken aback, probably because he had no idea what she was saying.

“This is useless,” Thoros whispered to Beric in Common. “She doesn’t know where the money is. If we give him what we’ve got, we’re out Mace’s ring and we’re no closer to finding Ned.”

“You can’t mean to just leave her here,” Beric whispered back, as Nymeria gazed up at him in uncomprehending adoration. Ugh, what was it with Beric and saving small children and damsels.

“Please sir, you must save me from these vile men!” Nymeria wrapped her arms around Beric’s neck and crooned in Valyrian. “If you return me to my lover, I will worship you in ways no Westerosi girl has ever dreamed of.”

“What’s she saying?” Beric frowned.

“Nothing,” Thoros growled from gritted teeth. “I say we ditch her.”

“Thoros!” Beric said in a shocked voice. 

Thoros met his gaze. Beric was dusty and his usually freshly pressed linen shirt was wrinkled. He had a pronounced cowlick from his encounter with the elephant and was developing a bit of a sunburn on the back of his neck. All the same, his blue eye glinted with ferocious determination and the sun made the gold in his dark blond hair dance. He really was something out of a children’s book.

“Fine,” Thoros whined, to conceal the fact that he would follow Beric to the ends of the earth when Beric looked at him like that. “Here’s your stupid money,” he tossed the bundle of cash at the Tattered Prince’s feet. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas on how we can make sixty grand?”

The Tattered Prince knelt easily and scooped up the bag, a spry move for someone who allegedly needed a cane to walk. “The purse for the amateur boxing tournament tonight is worth twice that.”

“NO!” Beric snapped at Thoros as he opened his mouth. “Being a back up bouncer at the worst bar in King’s Landing does not qualify you to box.”

“Not him,” the Tattered Prince shot an amused glance at Thoros. Jerk. He could take a seventy year old man and his walking stick, that was for sure.

“Your friend the new Khal. Robert.”

“Come again?” Thoros blinked.

“I would have thought he’d be taking Khal Drogo’s place for the Golden Company.”

“Robert?” Beric squeaked.

“Yes, the leader of the Khalasar is decided by single combat. After Robert won against Drogo last night, I only assumed…”

Thoros’ phone started to ring. It was Robert. Thoros stared at it. He tried to imagine casually breaking the news that Robert was now the de facto leader of a biker gang until someone else could beat him, and also they needed him to enter an underground boxing tournament run by various competing criminal syndicates. Plus his best friend was still missing. With a deep breath he picked up.

Robert immediately started babbling about being arrested and jail and phone calls and Stannis being a dick who wouldn’t pick up and Cersei was a huge fucking bitch who only cared about her own problems. Honestly, it was really hard to get a word in edge-wise. Thoros managed to assure him that he would get them out of prison (guess Nymeria would come in handy after all) and discretely let Mace and Oberyn know that the whole operation-rescue-Ned thing hadn’t gone so swimmingly. 

But somehow, the whole Khal thing never came up. Odd. Perhaps that was a conversation better had in person?


	84. Ensemble (Hangover in Myr 11 of 11)

At 5:45 pm, an irate ambassador’s daughter showed up at the police station demanding to know why her boyfriend had been arrested and her car impounded. A sheepish call to the Volantene embassy later, both of those mistakes were rectified.

At 6:30 pm, a black Rolls Royce pulled up to a pawn shop that had been doing a surprisingly robust business for a Saturday. A Patek Phillipe watch with a Dornish viper embossed on the back was pawned, along with a gold football championship ring, a set of ruby earrings said to be from Old Valyria, and a silver flask with a spiral etching. The approximate total of these exchanges came to six thousand dragons.

At 6:45 pm, Harry Strickland got a call from his new pal Bobby Baratheon. Did he know that Bobby was something of an amateur boxer? Hadn’t he seen that beautiful uppercut that finished off that Dothraki biker? Did he have literally any other option? Did Bobby mention he would fight for free?

At 7:30 pm, Bobby Baratheon arrived at the Windblown and introduced his new pal Harry to his old chums Beric Dondarrion and Mace Tyrell. Yes of the Tyrell Agricultural Conglomerate. Oh you’ve heard of it? No, sadly Oby couldn’t make it, he’d been tied up with other endeavors. Did Beric look familiar? He just had one of those faces. Don’t worry about it.

At 7:45 pm, a man claiming to be the Quartheen ambassador arrived at the Windblown with his mistress and his translator. His car had diplomatic plates, and the mistress certainly had the look of one of the more highly priced courtesans of Lys. The last bouncer had gotten in trouble with the boss and nobody knew what had happened to him, so Beans just wanted to make it through the night without offending anyone. The problem was that the Quartheen ambassador wasn’t on the list. And the Tattered Prince wasn’t scheduled to arrive until 10.

“Look,” the translator, a stocky redheaded fellow with a crooked nose, shrugged. “The ambassador just landed and wants a taste of real Myr. Something local color to entertain the dinner parties back home. He’s tired from traveling, he just wants to have a drink, place a bet or two then go home and go to bed. He won’t cause any trouble and he’ll be long gone by the time the Tattered Prince gets here.”

The ambassador looked at him over the aviators perched on his nose. 

“Awfully young to be an ambassador, isn’t he?” Beans said doubtfully.

“It’s a hereditary post. His father was called back to Quarth with kidney problems. I’m surprised you didn’t read about it in the foreign affairs section of the paper today,” the translator yawned.

Beans, who did not read the foreign affairs section (or read much at all) scratched his chin.

“Ah yes I thought I saw something about it this morning.”

“Are you going to let us in or not,” the dishy courtesan purred from where she was hanging off the ambassador’s arm. Her accent was old money Volantis. That was better than a Lysene courtesan. This guy had to be the real deal. 

“I’ve been telling Xoberyn what good fighters Myrmen are,” she pouted her enormous lips. “There’s just something about a man fighting for his life, bare chested, that... excites me.”

“Well?” The translator prompted, and Beans realized his eyes had glazed over.

“Of course,” Beans tried to make his voice sound deeper. “But you lot have to clear out before ten, you hear?”

The three of them were herded by Windblown cocktail waitresses to the VIP area. It was right up next to the boxing ring. Flutes of champagne miraculously appeared for the ambassador and his date. The translator was less lucky.

“Am I invisible?!” Thoros muttered, trying to flag down another waitress.

“Tell Nymeria that she looks ravishing in that dress,” Oberyn said in his ear, winking at the girl.

“You’ve already slept with her!” Thoros groaned.

“Yeah, but I don’t remember it. Just tell her.”

“Tell Oberyn I look even more ravishing with it off,” Nymeria smirked when Thoros told her. He sighed and dutifully translated it back.

“Tell her that I was to lick her pussy like an ice cream cone,” Oberyn grinned.

“Um no,” Thoros flatly refused. “This game of dirty telephone has ended. Place your bet.”

Oberyn snapped his fingers. A waitress immediately appeared.

“The ambassador would like to know the odds on the Golden Company fighter for the first round,” Thoros sighed. 

“Two to three. He’s unknown but supposed to be good. The Company of the Cat fighter got to the third round last year.”

Oberyn said something in gibberish that was presumably intended sound like Quartheen.

“He’ll put six thousand on the Golden Company.”

There was an exchange of cash.

“And I’ll have a glass of—“ the waitress disappeared.

“Now tell Nymeria that I want to lick her pussy or I’ll tell everybody at school that I saw you and Beric coming out of a bathroom stall at a night club with a used condom,” Oberyn pushed his sunglasses up his nose.

“Tell them, I don’t care,” Thoros scowled.

“Does Beric feel similarly?”

Thoros pulled a face.

“Nymeria, he wants to eat you out,” Thoros said as blandly as possible.

“Tell him I want his cock,” she grinned. Thoros nearly slapped himself in the face. “Tell him I want him to put a baby in my belly. I’ll name him Oberyn if it’s a boy and Nymeria if it’s a girl.”

“What’s she say?” Oberyn grinned lecherously.

Thoros was quiet for a moment. Never fuck crazy. But Lord of Light, if anybody deserved a surprise in nine months…

“That she wants to sleep with you,” he said finally. So maybe he didn’t like being blackmailed.

“I wish Robert would hurry up and win this thing,” Oberyn said as he squeezed Nymeria’s ass.

“Okay you have to hurry up and win this thing,” Mace said sternly. “Look at the fighter’s gut! You can take him! Just get angry!”

“That guy Harry keeps looking at me,” Beric fretted.

“Just don’t do anything that might remind him of last night,” Robert said, swigging from a bottle of water.

“Like...?”

“Steal an elephant. Talk about mice. Throw up.”

“I will try not to do those things,” Beric rolled his eyes. 

“I’m concerned you’re not angry enough,” Mace fretted. “Remember how Rhaegar humiliated you in front of the entire school? Remember how you got really sloppy drunk and pathetic for an entire year?”

Robert started to growl.

“Everyone knows you’re the dumbest of your brothers. You would have never gotten into the Aerie if it weren’t for football. And that girl Mhaegen Barr said you weren’t even that—“ Robert’s meaty hand closed around his neck.

“Is it working?” Mace gasped out.

“Well I’m certainly angry at you,” Robert sneered and squeezed a little tighter before dropping him. 

The bell rang. Robert hopped up into the ring and raised his hands. Some scattered cheers from the Golden Company. An older guy, heavier but more fat than muscle, stomped out on the other side. The crowd roared.

“Please let him win, please let him win,” Mace closed his eyes. There was a roar from the crowd and the slam of fists hitting flesh.

“He’ll win,” Beric said next to him. “He’s gone berserker again.”

Mace peeked at the fight. Robert was hammering the older guy with blow after blow and the older guy was looking punch drunk. Robert was looking blood thirsty.

“You’re welcome,” Mace said, a trifle proudly. After all, he had done that. What with his inspirational pep talk and everything.

“We’ll see,” Beric said sourly. “Now I’m more worried about the next round. You know critical thinking isn’t his strong point when he’s like this.”

“Critical thinking was never his strong point,” Mace snarked. But only to conceal the tremor of trepidation that shivered down his spine. Robert would remember the plan right? Dear gods, please let him remember the plan. 

The fight was over in the fourth round, when the referee had to literally pull Robert away from the unconscious body. Beric was looking a little pale at the sight of the blood pooling ringside.

“Bobby, you were brilliant!” Harry burst out, pushing toward them with his retinue. “You might actually have a shot at this thing!” He cast another look at Beric. “Are you sure we’ve never met? It’s on the tip of my tongue, I’ll get it.”

“Who’m I fighting next?” Robert blurted to distract him.

“Oh it’ll be another hour before we know. The fighter for the Brave Companions likely. Zollo, they call him.”

Harry wandered off.

“Oberyn and Thoros have collected the winnings,” Beric said in a low voice. “That’s nine thousand dragons.”

“Only fifty-one thousand more to go,” Mace heaved a sigh.

“Fifty seven thousand actually,” Beric said apologetically. “We have to get the other stuff back too.”

Mace shot him a dirty look.

The Brave Companion fellow was tremendously large. Beric gulped at the size of him. All the same he was slow. But the Stranger help the fighter who caught one of those swings. That fight went all twelve rounds, although his opponent was looking loopy by the end of it.

The crowd was murmuring, and Beric excused himself to check on the odds. Robert was heavily favored. Apparently people were liking his form. Beric supposed manic Neanderthal was a form. He caught a glimpse of Thoros from the corner of his eye, getting the waitress to take another bet from Oberyn. A very special bet. 

“I was thinking,” Robert said when Beric returned. Oh no. “That it might be kind of fun to run a Dothraki biker gang.”

“You wouldn’t look good with a braid,” Beric pointed out.

“Should I be returning that to this Drogo guy at some point?”

“Don’t tell me you packed it!”

“I thought it might come in handy?”

“How would the braid of a Dothraki khal come in handy, Robert?” Beric massaged his temples. “Let’s just get you home and you can play football at the Aerie.”

“Football’s nice. I’m kind of liking this amateur boxing gig.”

“Football makes a lot more money,” Beric crossed his arms.

“Cersei does have expensive tastes,” Robert nodded, in a wildly alarming thought process. “Oh well. It was a thought. Do you think Cersei would want a braid of human hair?”

Beric really wished they had taken him to the hospital at some point.

The first round, Zollo didn’t land a hit. Robert was ducking and weaving and every jab sent the enormous Dothraki reeling.

“Easy does it,” Mace scowled when the round ended.

“But couldn’t I just...” Robert began with a pleading glance at Beric.

“NO ROBERT,” Beric said in his sternest voice. “We are not leaving you to run a gang in Myr.”

Then the fight evened out some, even if Zollo was tiring. By the tenth round, Robert was heavily favored and Beric’s hands were sweaty.

“Our flight is supposed to leave in forty minutes,” Mace whispered. 

“It’s not going to leave without Olenna Tyrell’s son,” Beric brushed him off.

The bell rang. Zollo had clearly decided he wasn’t going to make it to the twelfth round. This was the last stand. His enormous haymakers were coming with a bit more juice and his incredible reach was keeping Robert at bay.

Then one of his punches clipped Robert on the chin. Robert spun like a top, but when he came to a stop his eyes had gone black with fury.

“Oh no,” Mace moaned.

He landed three punches in quick succession, and then elbowed Zollo hard in the kidneys. The referee jumped in to break them up.

“He’s just selling it,” Beric said uncertainly.

Robert spat some blood and snarled non-verbally.

“Really selling it.”

This time when they collided, Robert’s punch caught Zollo in the face, and oh gods, his eye was bleeding. Beric felt his stomach lurch as Zollo screamed.

The referee broke it up again, and Robert bounced back to their corner.

“Robert,” Mace hissed. “Remember the plan.”

Robert bared his teeth, the black hole on the side winking at them mockingly.

“Beric, a little help?!” Mace asked in a panicky voice. Beric was doubled over, but forced himself to straighten. Don’t look at the eye. Don’t look at the eye.

“Robert, do it for Cersei,” Beric managed to get out. And whether it was the eye or the sentiment, Beric promptly threw up.

From the back of the Golden Company’s bleachers, Harry Strickland’s face went white. And then red.

Zollo had staggered back into the ring, and Robert slowly walked toward him, fists up, eyes murderous.

There was a brief barrage of blows between both fighters, the two grappling with each other too closely to make out what was really happening. Then Robert grunted and hit the ground. 

“One,” the referee began the count. Zollo looked wary and had retreated to the back of the ring.

“Two.” Robert twitched. Mace tugged anxiously at his hair, not even noticing when some came out.

“Three.” Zollo began to leer.

“Four.” Beric noticed that Harry Strickland was gesturing furiously at him.

“Five.” Beric decided he should probably wait in the car.

“Six.” The Quartheen ambassador began quietly picking his way toward the bookies’ booth.

“Seven.” Robert managed to push himself to his knees. Mace gave a hollow groan.

“Eight.” Robert gave Mace a wink.

“Nine.” Robert flopped down to the ground again dramatically.

“Ten!” The crowd howled with rage. Mace scrambled into the ring to ostensibly help Robert up.

“Where’s Beric?” Robert whispered as he let Mace throw his arm over Mace’s shoulders.

“Leaving,” Mace said with a nervous look at the Golden Company. “And we should be going too.”

From the bookies, Thoros gave a thumbs up signal. Behind him, Oberyn and Nymeria were making out. Mace jerked his head at Thoros to get that situation under control. Honestly, did he have to do everything himself?

At 9:40 pm, the man claiming to be the Quartheen ambassador claimed seventy two thousand dragons in winnings after having made a well-placed wager on a KO in the tenth. 

At 10:05 pm, the watch, earrings, football ring and a diamond and ruby ring valued at sixty thousand dragons were reclaimed from a pawn shop for approximately sixty six thousand dragons.

At 10:15 pm, a black Rolls Royce with diplomatic plates was ushered onto the runway, where one Eddard Stark was waiting impatiently, checking his watch.

“Seven hells,” Robert breathed from driver’s seat. “Am I seeing things?”

Oberyn, his tongue fully entwined with Nymeria’s, did not reply from the passenger’s seat. Instead Oberyn’s groping hand found the switch to fully recline the seat.

“That’s Ned!” Mace cheered from where he was being slowly flattened behind the reclining chair. “He’s alive!”

“Thank the gods,” Beric looked up from retching into his paper bag. Thoros patted Beric on the back.

“Oberyn, look it’s Ned!” Mace repeatedly poked his friend around the car seat. Oberyn briefly disentangled his tongue from Nymeria’s and looked up. 

“Nice,” he nodded, and then went back to business.

“NED!” Robert jumped out of the car and ran across the tarmac before leaping into his friend’s arms. Ned caught him awkwardly. Mace, Beric and Thoros tumbled out of the back.

“Hey buddy,” Ned set Robert down as gently as he could set down something far too heavy for him. “What happened to your face?” He turned to the other three. “C’mon guys, you know he needs adult supervision.”

“Never mind my face, what happened to you?!” Robert blurted. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

“Really?” Ned frowned. “After the big news, I told Mace last night that I was going to try and go standby on a commercial plane to get home. Thank you so much for moving up our flight though,” he turned to Mace. “I’m sure you can understand why I was so anxious to get back.”

“What big news?” Beric asked uncertainly. Mace’s marriage? Robert becoming a khal? Stealing an elephant?

“Lyanna woke up!” Ned beamed. Then rolled his eyes. “Seriously, I know everybody was hammered, but I told all you guys last night!”

There was an awkward pause.

“What time last night?” Thoros said finally.

“Like midnight? At the Windblown? I had to step out to take a call from my father, but then I managed to track everyone down except for Robert. Mace, you called the airport to change the flight for me. Then I went back to the hotel and got a little sleep before I had to head over to the airport at like four to go standby on the six am flight. I lost my phone somewhere and then the morning standby didn’t even work so I waited for the noon flight. And then the six pm flight. You guys, this day has sucked so much, you have no idea.”

The four of them glanced uncertainly at each other.

“We’re just glad you’re here with us now,” Robert finally said, hugging him again.

“He definitely has a concussion, I can’t believe nobody took him to the hospital,” Ned managed to wriggle out of the hug. “Beric, I’m surprised at you. I would have thought you at least would have had the sense to do that.”

Beric opened his mouth and then shut it.

“Beric’s been feeling under the weather,” Thoros supplied, gesturing at the sick bag.

“Poor Oberyn, his last shot at the hangover cure was a bust then?” Ned relented.

Once more the four shared a glance.

“Total bust,” Mace shrugged. “My head is still killing me.”

“Mine too,” Robert added.

“You have a concussion you goof,” Ned told him. “Still, I would have loved to spend our last day in Myr with you guys. What’d you end up doing?”

A long pause.

“Well we slept in really late,” Beric started.

“We had a giant lunch,” Mace picked up the thread.

“Mace misplaced something so we went back by the Windblown,” Beric continued tentatively.

“I made a new friend!” Robert interjected. “His name is Harry!”

“Mace chatted up a girl,” Thoros said slyly.

“We saw a fascinating architectural and historical landmark,” Beric quickly jumped in.

“Thoros also chatted up a girl,” Mace said sourly. “A really big one.”

“Don’t be size-ist,” Thoros waved a hand.

“Then we watched a boxing match, and did some gambling,” Beric finished in one breath. 

“We won six thousand dragons!” Robert said proudly. 

“Bit of a let down after last night then, eh?” Ned grinned.

There was another one of those four way looks.

“Last night? In the back room casino at the Windblown?” Ned prompted. “Oberyn gave me the duffel bag to hang on to? You guys there’s like fifty thousand dragons in here,” he hefted a leather duffel bag.

“Sixty thousand actually,” Thoros began, a smile breaking across his face.

“Holy shit,” Mace clutched his chest. “You guys, I think I’m...”

“You’re not having a heart attack Mace,” Beric rolled his eyes. “It’s called joy.”

“Who wants to tell Oberyn?!” Robert beamed. They all glanced back to the car, where Oberyn and Nymeria had definitely not emerged.

“Let’s give him a few more minutes,” Thoros suggested.

“I love Myr,” Robert said dreamily. “Let’s come back next weekend.”

“It doesn’t sound like I missed THAT much,” Ned said with some relief.

“Nothing unforgettable,” Beric assured him and Thoros snorted.

“All things considered, it was rather dull without you,” Mace clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re glad to have you back.”

“Like so glad,” Robert added trying to hug Ned again.

“You guys, I wasn’t even gone that long!” Ned groaned, dodging Robert’s outstretched arms. “Seriously, what’s the worst that could have happened?!”


	85. Brienne (Losing My Religion 1 of 12)

The best night of Brienne’s life started terribly.

Robert pulled in to Crossroads, and ignored the waving valet to park the Bugatti himself, in the furthest lot. Normally Brienne might have complained, as she still wasn’t steady in heels. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure she should be wearing heels, as that made her officially taller than Jaime. But Renly had been adamant. For Jaime’s birthday dinner, she had to wear heels.

Robert turned the engine off, and for a second the two of them just sat there quietly.

“It was very nice of you to drive me,” Brienne said politely.

“Of course,” Robert shrugged. “We’re both in Stormlands, it was no trouble at all.”

“I guess we should go in and see if they’re there yet.”

“Yeah,” Robert nodded. Neither of them made any move to open the door.

“What did you get Jaime?” Robert asked.

“I got him a Lysene art house movie with subtitles that got rave reviews. And um a video game that will be easy to play without using his right hand. And tickets to the King’s Landing Dragons game next week. Also a sweater that I thought might look nice on him, and then I made some cute coupons for him to use...”

“Oh nice, like for a blowjob?” Robert nodded. “Lyanna made me some of those once.”

Brienne blushed. Hers were actually for a free milkshake, or a head start the next time they competed in something, or like an hour where Jaime could make all the stupid jokes he wanted and she would have to laugh at all of them.

“Yeah like that,” Brienne mumbled. “What did you get Cersei?”

“Uh these emerald earrings she picked out, I’m really shit at gifts,” Robert admitted. “I got her this other thing, but I’m worried it might be stupid.”

“What is it?” Brienne asked, intrigued in spite of herself.

“A Malibu Barbie,” Robert said sheepishly. “It’s kind of like a joke. When we were kids, I broke hers and she was really pissed off at me. Like decade long hatred pissed off. So I thought that it might be cute. Unless it’s stupid.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” Brienne said warmly. “You should definitely give it to her. But maybe not in front of her father.”

“Definitely not,” Robert agreed with a shudder. They both glanced over at the Crossroads automatically.

“I don’t think Tywin likes me very much,” Brienne confided. It seemed only fair, since Robert had told her about his secret present. Plus he was probably the only person who might understand what she was going through. Even if he was Robert.

“Tywin doesn’t like anyone very much,” Robert patted her shoulder.

“Right,” Brienne swallowed. “But did he ever offer you money not to date Cersei?”

“He couldn’t afford me,” Robert grinned. Then when he saw she was genuinely shaken, he tried to calibrate. “Um no, but that doesn’t mean he likes you less than me. Trust me, there is almost nobody he likes less than me. He’s just more worried about Jaime than Cersei. It has nothing to do with you.”

“I’m just worried that he doesn’t want me at this dinner,” Brienne said haltingly.

“Oh he definitely doesn’t,” Robert assured her. “But like he doesn’t want me there either. Or Tyrion probably. I really believe you are putting too much stock in what Tywin Lannister wants.”

Brienne looked at him doubtfully. Easy for Robert Baratheon to say. Tywin meeting Robert must have been like an unstoppable force meeting an immoveable ego.

“Tell you what,” Robert offered. “I will drink way too much and order all the most expensive things on the menu. I will slap his back when I see him. He absolutely hates that. He’ll be so furious at me that he’ll forget you’re there.”

Brienne gave a small laugh, until she realized that Robert was quite sincere.

“I don’t think Cersei will like that,” Brienne had to intervene.

“She won’t care. She might even find it funny. The only person who cares what he thinks is you,” Robert rolled his eyes.

So that’s why we’re hiding out in the parking lot? Brienne wanted to ask. Robert might act like Tywin Lannister didn’t scare him, but it wasn’t like he was in a hurry to get to this dinner.

Instead she opened the door with a sigh. Robert reluctantly got out a few seconds behind her. Feeling a little like she was marching into battle, Brienne rolled her shoulders back and kept her chin up. They do not think you’re a cow in a dress, they do not think you’re a cow in a dress, she chanted silently.

“Brienne! Darling, take off those heels before you hurt yourself,” Cersei air kissed her cheeks as she came in the door. Okay, she might think you’re a cow in a dress, Brienne admitted.

“Silence shrew, Brienne you must never take off those heels,” Jaime hugged her. “I can’t believe how long your legs are. I could write sonnets to your legs.”

“What he means is that he’ll make me write sonnets to your legs, so please don’t ask,” Tyrion smiled up at her.

“Hi everybody,” Brienne grinned. “Happy birthday Jaime,” she pecked him on the cheek.

“Happy birthday Cersei,” Robert winked behind her and then lifted her into a kiss. Brienne blushed as Cersei’s legs wrapped around his waist and he pushed her against the wall. Tyrion made a loud gagging noise.

“Where’s your father?” Brienne asked. Not nervously, just... cautiously.

“Oh he’s on the phone with one of his brokers outside,” Jaime rolled his eyes. “God forbid this dinner distract him from making money.”

“Shall we go to our table when Cersei and Robert come up for air?” Tyrion said politely.

“Sounds good,” Jaime said, squeezing Brienne’s hand. “Yo, Baratheon, her tonsils are fine. Save it for when my father gets here.”

Cersei slid down with a pout.

“It’s my birthday, be nice.”

“It’s my birthday too!”

“It was my birthday first.”

“Only for like a minute.”

“Best minute of my life,” Cersei flipped her hair. “Garçon! Please seat us.” She snapped her fingers peremptorily and half the staff jumped to assist.

“Oooh, we should order wine before he gets here,” Robert said, snagging a menu. “I’ve always wanted to order one of those thousand dragon bottles just to see if they really have it!”

“Something bubbly too,” Cersei put in.

“Can I have some scotch?” Tyrion said hopefully.

“Of course!” Robert grinned.

“Robert, he’s twelve,” Jaime growled.

“Never too early to start!”

After the wine had been poured, Cersei casually drained her flute in one go and smirked.

“Catch up, you lot, what we drink father can’t pour out.”

Brienne smiled weakly and took a sip of the red. It was quite good actually. Maybe not thousand dragon good, but it went down really easily.

Super easily, Brienne decided, after her third glass. Cersei appeared to agree. She was alternating between champagne and the red, and was on her fourth glass.

“What are we doing about hotel suites,” Cersei purred, brushing a bead of the wine from her lower lip and licking her finger. It almost looked like blood.

“Hotel suites?” Jaime frowned.

“For prom,” Cersei gave her Cheshire Cat smile. “We always go in together on a hotel suite. Remember last year you had Pia and I had Osfryd.”

“Osmund,” Jaime corrected testily.

“Oh who can recall. The point is where do you want to stay? The Two Seasons? The Hyllton?”

“Do I get a vote?” Robert asked.

“No darling,” Cersei said without looking away from her brother’s face.

“Let’s talk about this later,” Jaime responded tightly.

“No, lets talk about it now,” Cersei tilted her head. “Surely not the Merryiatt?” Her eyes danced with a wicked light. Brienne sensed that she and Jaime were sparring on some level that the rest of the table was not privy to.

“We won’t be needing a hotel suite,” Jaime said.

“We won’t?” Cersei replied with an elaborate frown. “You want a hotel suite, don’t you Robert?”

“Yes please,” Robert said, straightening his posture like a student hoping to make a good impression.

“You knew what I meant,” Jaime glared. “Brienne and I won’t be needing a hotel room. Now stop being a bitch.”

“Oh look, it’s father!” Tyrion nearly shouted in the uncomfortable silence. Cersei only took another slow sip of her wine, smiling slightly.

Brienne felt flummoxed. What had just happened?

“It’s amazing what these brokers think they can get away with,” Tywin Lannister glowered as he walked over. “I am sorry for being late,” he continued, without sounding sorry in the slightest.

“Tywin!” Robert got up and slapped the man’s back with a crack that sounded like a gunshot. Tywin looked pained. Robert shot Brienne a wink.

“Robert Baratheon. Please refrain from these outbursts of enthusiasm. My chiropractor is on vacation,” Tywin eyed him coolly.

“Robby’s so strong,” Cersei giggled. Brienne blinked. What was that?

“I see you helped yourselves to drinks,” Tywin ignored her. “Tyrion, give that glass to me immediately, I can’t believe your siblings would let you order something.”

“Oh I said he could,” Robert chipped in blithely. “Renly is a member of two wine clubs you know, and he’s only eight!”

“Steffon is welcome to raise or fail to raise his children in any way he sees fit. I would think early results already speak to the efficacy of his methods,” Tywin wrenched the glass from Tyrion’s hand.

“Oh daddy, don’t get so worked up,” Cersei sighed. “Can we order?”

“What do you think is better, the steak or the foie gras?” Robert scrunched his face in thought.

“You’re a growing boy! You should get both!” Cersei tittered. “I’m getting the lobster myself. You’re welcome to have some.”

Tywin looked like he might have a coronary. Robert definitely would have a coronary if he ate all that.

Brienne tried to relax and enjoy the evening, or at least the sight of Tywin vainly trying to murder Robert by death glare.

If only Jaime hadn’t gone so surly all of a sudden. It was his birthday, he was supposed to be having fun! Brienne reached out to nudge him with her foot. He was a little further than she had expected, so she really had to stretch. Good thing she had those long legs he was always raving about.

“Can whomever is kicking me under the table please desist?” Tywin snapped with a suspicious glance at Robert. Brienne quickly withdrew her foot, mortified. Tyrion at least caught her blush because he started laughing hysterically, trying to disguise it as a coughing fit.

“Tyrion, if you insist on choking, please do so away from the table.”

“I’ll take him outside,” Brienne quickly offered, because she didn’t think she could look Tywin directly in the face for another hour or two.

“Hahahahaha,” Tyrion doubled over the moment they got outside the restaurant.

“It’s not funny!” She blurted, pressing the backs of her hands against her cheeks to try and calm her blush down.

“You played footsy with my father!” Tyrion was crying he was laughing so hard.

“Not on purpose!” Brienne hissed.

“And he thinks it was Robert!”

Brienne crossed her arms.

“Are you quite finished?” She asked acidly.

“You have to admit that’s hilarious.”

“Any contact that might have occurred between my foot and your father’s foot was completely accidental and DEEPLY unfortunate,” Brienne said stoically, giving her rapidly reddening features up as a lost cause.

“It almost makes up for Cersei being such a pill earlier,” Tyrion wiped his eyes.

“Yeah,” Brienne shook her head to get rid of the last linger nausea she felt. “What was that about?”

“Oh, you know Cersei, always making digs about you and Jaime not having had sex yet.”

What?!

Brienne returned to the table subdued, the embarrassment of earlier nearly forgotten. Was it weird that they hadn’t slept together yet? It was weird, wasn’t it? Their first date had been back in November and now it was April.

The first course came and Brienne hardly touched it.

The way Cersei had poked at Jaime, the way he’d said not now as if this were a regular occurrence. 

Jaime knew it was weird and hadn’t said anything about it. Brienne frowned. Had she done something to indicate that she didn’t want to have sex? Every time they had made out on her hand bed, it had always been Jaime who broke things off, Jaime who sheepishly joked about taking cold showers. She didn’t need to rush headlong into losing her virginity—if Jaime wanted to take his time that was fine with her. But this exchange left a different taste in her mouth. They always got a hotel suite, that’s what Cersei had said. Always. And Jaime hadn’t disagreed. The only thing different this year was Brienne.

First course was replaced by main. 

Was it her? Was Jaime not attracted enough to her to sleep with her? The old bad insecurities started to read their ugly heads and Brienne squelched them just as firmly. Jaime had never given her any cause to doubt his attraction to her. He took every occasion to tell her how beautiful she was. Surely that wasn’t something that could be feigned. Maybe the issue was that he thought she was waiting for something. 

Oh dear. What could she do to get to the bottom of this? 

From two seats down, Jaime smiled at her. She smiled uncertainly back. 

She was so bad at these conversations. And a conversation about sex... gods she couldn’t even get the word out without blushing.

“Dessert?” A waiter asked in a low voice and she shook her head.

“Pre-prom diet? Good for you!” Cersei said cheerily.

Brienne sank lower in her chair. One thing was for sure, any conversation they were going to have was going to take place far away from this peanut gallery. But first, she was in dire need of advice.


	86. Davos (Losing My Religion 2 of 12)

The worst night in Davos’ life started mundanely, with Salladhor calling to see if he wanted to make some extra money moving cargo at the docks. The answer to that was obviously yes. Marya’s sister Anya was going to therapy and only some of the bill was covered by their family’s insurance plan. Her sister Nyna needed new shoes. And his truck had been making a bizarre sound that was getting more and more difficult to ignore.

“What are we moving?” Davos had asked when he saw Sal waiting for him where he normally parked his car. Sal was leaning against a wall, flirting with a girl who was almost certainly a prostitute. But when he saw Davos, he tipped his hat to her respectfully and peeled off the wall to walk with him.

“Don’t ever ask that,” Sal warned him, his normally genial features slipping into something more serious. “It is better not to know. If you are ever caught, you cannot lie. More importantly, nobody will worry about whether you might tell the truth.”

“Uh right,” Davos shrugged uneasily. Sal had never cared if he knew before. Televisions, bootlegged movies, cheap phones, knock off handbags. But he supposed tonight he wasn’t technically working for Sal.

“Right, who’s paying us three times market to move this crap? Or am I not supposed to ask that either?” Davos tilted his head.

“The Greyjoys,” Sal said quietly. Davos fell a step back.

“What, they don’t have their own muscle?!”

He hated this. Greyjoy goons were bad news, Salladhor knew this, Salladhor was the one who taught him this.

“It’s a big deal, they’ve been buying up everyone with two arms and a pulse, it’s been going on months now. Eventually those squids got their tentacles all the way down to minnows like us,” Sal flashed him one of his blindingly white smiles, the one that said trust me everything’s cool.

“But maybe you don’t want to get paid three times market? Your truck’s right back there. Assuming you can get it started.”

“No, I’m fine, I just... I wish you would have told me,” Davos grumbled. He needed the money. Marya needed the money. And Sal was smart. Sal was safe.

They found the foreman or the pit boss or whatever the Greyjoys like to call the head of the crew. He sent them over to a cargo boat and then another man sent them below deck. The hold had a false back and beyond that back was box after wooden box, all screamingly heavy, all printed over in red with symbols Davos didn’t understand. Maybe it was Yi Ti. Whatever it was, the men were ridiculously careful with them. Muscular heavily scarred men who looked like they would kill you for sneezing lowered each box with a tenderness that might have been almost comical. But Davos was having trouble finding much to laugh at, so he emulated them and tried to keep his head down.

At one point, Balon Greyjoy showed up to talk to the overseer. The man was almost deferential to a boy of eighteen, and that too could have been funny if there were anything funny about Balon Greyjoy. Balon looked completely at home smoking on the wharves, running over numbers and watching the men with narrowed gray eyes half-hidden under his greasy brown locks.

Davos had to walk right by him, and he held his breath. He knew it would be trouble if Balon recognized him. Placed him from school, placed him from the Greyjoy Rebellion. But of the four, Balon was the least likely to remember his face. 

He was so close now that he could hear snatches of their murmured conversation. He remembered what Sal had said about ignorance being a kind of protection, and he tried to block it out but at one point Balon gave a harsh bark of laughter.

“Fucking government work and these fucking profits, we’re in the wrong line of business Harlaw!”

Then he turned to go, which took him right into Davos’ path.

“Sorry,” Davos grunted, trying to keep the box between him and Balon, trying to make his voice sound as deep and adult as possible.

“S’fine,” Balon ground out his cigarette under his boot and left. 

Davos was so relieved that he set the box down a little too exuberantly at the warehouse.

“Easy!” snapped a man with a scar running down the left side of his face. “This is delicate shit!”

“Sorry,” Davos said again, backing away and wondering if it was too late to just back all the way out of this entire mess mumbling sorry all the way. Seeing Balon had rattled him. There was a reason he didn’t do business with Greyjoys, Davos told himself. He should have turned around the moment Sal had said something. What if Euron was around?! What if Euron saw him?!

Then he heard gunfire and someone screaming ‘POLICE!’ and he knew that it was in fact too late.

The moment he heard the gunfire, he was on his stomach, belly crawling toward the water. His best bet was to swim under the docks and wait there until the fighting was over. He hoped Sal was okay. He probably would be, he had a good nose for avoiding violence.

When he got to the edge, Davos didn’t even bother glancing at the murky black water. He just went up and over in one motion, praying to the Mother that he wouldn’t get shot.

Then the frigid blackness crashed over him and he tried not to breath in any of the water because this was Iron Port and it was all polluted. Nothing should swim in these waters. He was kicking frantically, trying to get used to swimming in his clothes, trying to fight the uneasy sensation that they were dragging him down. A wave picked him up and tossed him against the wall of the jetty and he had to fight that panic too, a panic that the waves would just pummel him against the rocks until he broke.

He was a strong swimmer, and set out trying to move sideways against the current, aiming for the nearest dock. There was shouting from the shore but no more gunshots, and he finally got under the old warped wooden boards. He wrapped his arms around one of the pylons, tried to ignore the cold and the wet and the slap of salt water in his face.

He waited for a long time, what felt like hours. Cold from the ocean had a way of sinking in bone deep, and after a while his body stopped shivering to try and fight it off. He couldn’t feel his fingers, only knew they were still there because he was still attached to the pylon like a barnacle, clinging for dear life.

Finally, when he had heard nothing but street noise for ages and he could bear the cold no longer, Davos forced his body to shimmy up the concrete pillar, forced his numb hands to grab the side of the dock and pull himself up. He lay there, cheek pressed against the warped and rotting wood, waiting for feeling to return. He was still lying there when the police officer walked up to him and nudged him with a boot.

“We got another live one!” The officer shouted. “Aw he’s only a little guy. We should be doing catch and release.”

They tossed him in the holding wagon with a dozen others, and Sal hadn’t gotten away after all because he was there. He fought his way over limbs and bodies to get to Davos, insisted Davos take off his shirt and put on Sal’s jacket. Sal tried to warm his hands too, rubbing them and blowing, but Davos couldn’t feel a thing.

“I’m sorry about this Danyal,” Sal said in a low voice. “I imagine you lost your ID in the water. But I have your passport at my house. If you have someone who can pick it up and bring my rainy day fund, we’ll get Danyal Salt out on bail in no time.”

He nodded tiredly, more to indicate that he registered what Sal was telling him then to accept the apology. He did of course. It wasn’t like Sal had made him take any risks that Sal didn’t take. But they were both in the soup now and Davos had never been brave like Sal. He tried to force down the lump in his throat, tried not to think of how badly he might have just messed up his life. If Sal said he had a passport for Davos in the name of Danyal Salt that showed he wasn’t a minor… well Sal didn’t usually lie. Of course Sal didn’t normally get them caught up in a police drag net either.

He couldn’t call his father of course. Even if his father were still sober and capable of decision-making at this hour, he would almost rather take his chances in prison. The area that Sal lived in was… dubious. Even by Flea Bottom standards. He couldn’t ask his mother or Marya or Melisandre to go there in the middle of the night. That really only left one person.

In a way, it ended up being even easier than that. There were no charges. Some kind of mix up at the police station. Everybody was going to be released. Jeor Mormont himself apologized to all of them through gritted teeth as the Greyjoy men leered. Davos strongly suspected corruption at a higher level. Regardless, he wouldn’t even miss a day of school.

In a way, it ended up being much harder. Because when Davos was released from the pen, still wearing Sal’s ragged and oversized jacket, he had to look at Stannis sitting in the waiting room, shoulders hunched and face pale. 

They got into Stannis’ mother’s old Saab without saying anything, except when Davos gave Stannis directions on how to get back to his truck and Stannis nodded. 

Once or twice, Stannis opened his mouth and then shut it. His nostrils were flared and his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Davos was tired and cold and did not feel like helping his friend tear him a new one. So silence it was.

“Why does an ex-con named Salladhor Saan who lives in a roach-infested apartment above what appears to be a brothel have a passport for a Danyal Salt that has a photo of you?” Stannis finally spat.

“I do some work for Sal. I imagine he had it in case of emergencies.”

“Like you being arrested?!”

“I wasn’t charged with anything,” Davos said, lamely even to his ears.

Stannis pulled over on the side of the road, so he could take his eyes off his surroundings and fix Davos with an incredulous stare.

“You are in high school! You go to the best private school in the country! On a full scholarship! You shouldn’t be in a police station at all! If Prep found out about this, you would be expelled before you had time to collect your books!”

“I know,” Davos mumbled. “It was a mistake.”

“A mistake?!” Stannis twisted the word, made it sound mocking. “A mistake that you have worked for Salladhor Saan long enough for him to create a fake identity for you in case of emergencies?!”

“No,” Davos glared. “Tonight was a mistake. The risks outweighed the rewards. It was stupid. I’ll be more careful in the future.”

“Future?” Stannis spat. “You can’t be serious. You’re breaking the law, Davos. You’re a criminal. How can you possibly justify that?!”

“Some knockoff handbags aren’t hurting anyone,” Davos rolled his eyes.

“Except the employees at the company who makes the actual product, and the employees at the factory in Yi Ti that churns out thousands of these things in abominable conditions and everyone hurt by the black market system that is enabled by the profits you are helping to produce,” Stannis growled.

Davos rocked back in his seat, fed up.

“Okay. Because Anya wakes up screaming every night. And she’s failing her classes because she can’t sleep. And she’s lost twenty pounds because she won’t eat. She needs therapy and Marya’s family can’t afford therapy. But no, play me a fiddle for some fancy Lysene fashion house that made just a drop less money than it might have otherwise.”

“You don’t get to choose what laws you break and what laws you follow,” Stannis crossed his arms. “I thought you got that.”

“I get to choose whether I’m going to help the people I care about,” Davos gave right back. “I thought you got THAT. So maybe you should choose whether you’re going to help me, or be a dick.”

“I have helped you! I fucking got you into Prep!” Stannis smacked the wheel of the car. “And you’re throwing it all away because you want some easy money. Maybe this sucks to hear, but it’s not your job to pay for Marya’s younger sister’s therapy! It’s your job to graduate and go to college and be better than this!”

Davos hated violence. He had yet to encounter a problem that could not be solved by talking things out. Now, for the first time, he had to wonder if this problem wouldn’t be better served by breaking Stannis’ nose.

“I never asked to go to your stupid school,” he said dully. “You made me apply, and then you made me apply for all those scholarships and I went because it was important to you. I don’t want to be ‘better than this’. Because this is already a thousand times better than that awful cesspool of privileged little brats and their privileged little problems. They aren’t better than Sal. They aren’t better than Marya. And you aren’t either, so shove that self-righteous bullshit up your ass.”

Stannis looked at him.

“I think you’d better get out,” he said finally.

So Davos did.


	87. Brienne (Losing My Religion 3 of 12)

“Actually, we can just go straight to your house,” Brienne stopped Robert before he made the turn down her street. “I need to talk to Renly about something.”

“Sure,” Robert said absently. It was only a minute before they pulled into the Baratheon grounds. Brienne noted the absence of cars in the garage.

“Where are your parents?”

Robert shrugged.

“Yi Ti? Sothyros? Who can keep track.”

Brienne wondered if she and her father had the only healthy relationship in the entire school.

“Will Renly mind that I’m coming by unannounced? It’s a little late and tomorrow’s a school day,” Brienne bit her lip.

“He won’t care. He doesn’t usually go to bed until two or three in the morning,” Robert opened the door for her.

“He’s eight,” Brienne frowned.

“Yup,” Robert agreed.

“...shouldn’t he have a bed time?”

“Oh look, more wine,” Robert wandered off.

Brienne sighed. She went upstairs to where all the bedrooms were. Stannis’ bedroom light was on, although the door was closed. He was talking in a low, angry voice, and a female voice was responding soothingly. Brienne tiptoed past.

“Ren?” She knocked on his door cautiously. His light was on as well. There was a thump and then the sound of footsteps.

“Bri?” The door swung open, and Renly blinked up at her. He was wearing dark jeans and a smoking jacket and did not look dressed for bed in the slightest.

“Is now a bad time?” She asked hesitantly.

“For you? No such thing,” Renly gave her a cheeky grin. “Come in! Make yourself at home!”

He spun and gestured elaborately at his bedroom as if he was offering her the world. It was a very nice bedroom, Brienne had to admit. A canopy bed and gorgeous antique furniture, vintage movie posters and a dressmaker’s doll set up in the corner for Renly’s fashion projects.

She sank into one of the plush chairs in his adjoining sitting room.

“So,” Renly said in a sing song voice, sitting down next to her. “How was the dinner?”

“It could hardly have been worse,” Brienne said flatly. She had been suppressing these feelings of anxiety but now they began to bubble up.

“Some wine?” Renly asked politely, gesturing to a decanter. He had half a glass next to him.

“You are EIGHT!” Brienne huffed. Renly raised an eyebrow.

“No thank you,” Brienne mumbled. Really, were all the Baratheons alcoholics?

“Then tell me everything,” Renly acknowledged the apology.

“Oh it was awful. I played footsie with his father—“

Renly spat some of the wine back into the glass.

“Brienne! I mean I guess he’s handsome enough in a silver fox kind of way...”

“It was an ACCIDENT,” Brienne growled. 

“Fine, you ACCIDENTALLY played footsie with his father,” Renly rolled his eyes. He didn’t believe her. “What else?”

“Cersei made fun of us for never having sex!”

Renly spat the rest of his wine back into the glass.

“You haven’t had sex?!”

“Who are you, Robert?!” Brienne snapped.

“Even Stannis has had sex!”

“Stannis is older than me! And he and Melisandre have been dating for ages!”

“You’ve been dating for five months! And it’s Jaime Lannister! I would hit that!”

“YOU ARE EIGHT!”

“When I’m thirteen then,” Renly sighed dramatically.

“Eighteen!”

Renly made an incredulous sound.

“...fifteen?” Brienne tried.

“Fourteen,” Renly compromised. Brienne supposed that was the best she was going to get.

“It’s not like I don’t want to have sex! I just didn’t want to force it! I thought it would happen organically, but now it turns out Jaime’s just been holding back the whole time and I don’t know why! What if he’s not attracted to me?!”

Renly put the glass of wine down, it seeming like an absurdly large prop in his tiny hand.

“That’s bullshit,” he said coldly. “He’s crazy about you.”

“Then why did he nix the hotel room without us even talking about it?”

“Maybe he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable?”

“Well how do I find out?” Brienne demanded.

“I can think of one way,” Renly’s eyes lit up mischievously.

“No.”

“You could—“

“No.”

“—seduce him.”

“No.”

“Brienne!” Renly whined. “It’s his birthday! The tradition of getting laid on your birthday is well established! This is the perfect opportunity!”

“Robert didn’t have sex with Cersei!” Brienne protested.

“Uh yeah he did,” Renly shot her an incredulous look. “This morning. I could hear them all the way down the hall.”

Brienne blushed.

“No offense, but maybe I should be getting advice from someone who has a boyfriend?” She managed weakly. To her surprise, Renly took it in stride.

“Stay here,” he ordered her sternly and then disappeared out the door. Brienne glanced dubiously at the decanter. She hoped he wasn’t going to get more wine.

But no, his footsteps were back too soon for him to have gone downstairs. 

“Brienne, have you met Melisandre?” Renly said politely. Brienne’s head snapped up. It was odd how she could be wearing heels and one of her nicest dresses and Melisandre could be wearing one of the same red dresses she wore every day, and Brienne could still feel like she was a servant in the presence of a haughty queen.

“We have met,” Melisandre said, since Brienne was apparently incapable of forming words. Brienne nodded dumbly.

“And you’re sure it’s no trouble?” Renly asked pleasantly.

“Of course not, Stannis is being simply... impossible,” Melisandre waved her hand.

“He’s always like that,” Renly told her. “I’m surprised it’s taken so long for you to notice. You must agree on a lot of things.”

“So let’s hear what’s going on with you and Jaime,” Melisandre smiled. If Brienne didn’t know better, she would say she sounded almost girly? Like Brienne was about to dish some gossip? But that was ridiculous, Melisandre marched around crusading for justice and wearing inappropriate dresses. She didn’t do gossip. She couldn’t!

When Brienne failed to adequately recover her voice, Renly broke in and caught Melisandre up.

“Oh you definitely need to seduce him,” Melisandre said when the story was over. Brienne goggled. Was she a plant? Had Renly coached her on what to say? He hadn’t been gone for very long, when did he even have the time?

“The absolute most likely scenario is that he’s scared of pressuring you into anything. If you say, show up in his bedroom tonight, he would feel a lot less concern on that score,” Melisandre added firmly.

“I don’t think I could seduce someone,” Brienne mumbled, cheeks burning. “Not even Jaime.”

“That is ridiculous,” Melisandre said. “Anyone can seduce someone. Well,” she looked thoughtful. “I actually tried to once with Stannis and it didn’t go very well. But he’s got the wrong temperament for it. Jaime Lannister probably has the exact right temperament for it.”

“You just said it doesn’t always work! What if he turns me down?!” Brienne demanded.

Melisandre shrugged.

“Then you’re perfectly within your rights to ask what’s up. You’re his girlfriend Brienne, you’re allowed to talk about these things.”

“All you need,” Renly smirked, “is the right outfit.”

That was how Renly and Melisandre came to be in her bedroom, methodically pulling out every article of clothing she owned.

“Why don’t you have any negligees?!” Renly demanded.

“Because I’m not a 1930s movie star,” Brienne riposted.

“What about this one?” Melisandre held up the red dress she’d worn on Val’s Day.

“Much too formal,” Renly scoffed. “You only picked it because it was red. Brienne, what did you do with my birthday present?”

Hid it on the top shelf of the closet under all my linens, Brienne mentally thought.

“It’s not there?” She tried to sound confused.

“It’ll turn up,” Renly said determinedly. “Because that would be perfect.”

He was looking under the bed, but Melisandre had brought out a stool and was peeking through the closet shelves. Still, why would she look through the linens?

“Ooh, how about this?” Melisandre plucked the black lacy item from the linens.

“You found it!” Renly cheered. 

“It’s ideal,” Melisandre agreed with Renly. She tossed it at Brienne. “Put it on, chop chop,” she said when Brienne only caught it and looked at the garment in her hands. 

“Right now?” Brienne squeaked.

“Well it’s not much of a surprise if you sneak into his bedroom and then change in front of him,” Melisandre rolled her eyes.

Brienne huffed and went into the bathroom to change. It was very strappy and sheer, she gulped. She wasn’t sure she was much of a garter person. And it drew attention to her breasts in a rather ostentatious way. How did these straps even attach? Was she putting it on wrong? She was still staring when there was a knock at the door.

“Can I come in?” Melisandre asked in a brisk voice that suggested she supervised seductions frequently. After a beat, when Brienne didn’t respond, she let herself in.

“Oh, you look...” Melisandre trailed off.

“Like a stripper giantess?”

“I was going to say good enough to eat,” Melisandre gave her a distinctly carnivorous smile. Brienne blinked. 

“Let me just adjust this here,” Melisandre bent and tightened something and Brienne’s breasts lifted another inch. “And clip this one,” the corset part got significantly tighter. “Oh and you forgot to do the laces.”

“Ta da!” Melisandre surveyed her approvingly.

“Brienne, are you decent?! Let me see!!!” Renly pushed his way in. “Yes, it’s perfect.”

“What do I um, wear over it?” Brienne said shyly.

“Nothing!” Renly snapped.

“It’s still cold, Renly, she’ll freeze. Do you have a trench coat?”

And that is how Brienne came to be driving her car to Westerlands at almost midnight, wearing nothing but some kind of sex costume and a trench coat with Melisandre and Renly both squished into the passenger seat.

“What do I say?” Brienne fretted.

“Ooh, tell him you brought him a birthday present. Then drop the coat and say it’s you,” Renly suggested.

Brienne wrinkled her nose in embarrassment.

“You don’t have to say anything at all,” Melisandre comforted her. “That’s the beauty of the outfit. It does your talking for you. Just climb in the window, walk over to his bed and drop the coat.”

“Climb in the window?!” Brienne yelped. “He’s on the second floor! It’s pitch black outside!”

“It’s not that hard,” Melisandre scowled.

“Then you climb it!”

“I’ll climb it,” Renly offered with a suggestive smirk. 

“NO!” Brienne wondered how she had been talked into this adventure by two people who were clearly insane. “Nobody will climb in the window. I’ll call him and say I’m outside and then he’ll let me in.”

“Lame,” Renly sighed. “I suppose that will work. But this way you can’t accidentally climb into Tywin’s room.”

“What?” Melisandre giggled, intrigued.

“Brienne played footsie with Tywin Lannister at dinner,” Renly informed her.

“ON ACCIDENT!” Brienne interjected.

“I suppose he’s good looking in a stern headmaster reaches naughty schoolgirl a lesson kind of way,” Melisandre mused.

“That’s what I said!” Renly beamed.

“Well the two of you can seduce Tywin Lannister,” Brienne massaged her temples. “Just as soon as you get a text from me that there is no need for an emergency extraction. Then you can drive my car back to Renly’s.”

“You won’t need an emergency extraction,” Renly comforted her. “It’s Jaime. He adores you. He’s going to scoop you up into his big strong arms and then you’re going to do that thing the two of you do where you gaze lovingly into each other’s eyes that makes us all want to barf.”

“We don’t do that!”

“You do that,” Melisandre corrected. “It’s cute.”

“And then,” Renly continued, warming to his subject. “You’re going to have le sex and then you can get a hotel room for prom and THEN you can shove it in Cersei’s face.”

Brienne turned into the Lannister driveway. All the grass and marble. It was even spookier this late at night. 

“You can do this,” Renly promised her, as if he could sense what she was thinking. She parked in front of the front door.

“What do I text him?” She asked nervously. 

“That you’ve got a birthday present for him...”

“No! Seriously what do I text him?”

“Keep it simple,” Melisandre advised. “Downstairs, wanted to see you, let me in?”

Brienne nodded and sent that. There was a little whoosh sound as the text sent. Then a little chime sound as she got a reply near instantly.

_Coming!_

“Get out!” Renly pushed her toward the door. “He can’t look in the car and see us!”

Brienne stumbled out, feeling highly put upon and not really in a seduction mood. Whatever that would feel like. Still, she had long ago passed the point of turning back. She might as well give it her best shot.

She walked over to the pillars that framed the front door and posted up on one, going for a sexy devil-may-care lean. Like a stripper giantess. Muffled from within the car she distinctly heard a wolf whistle, but when she glanced back, the car appeared to be empty. There was no doubt in her mind however that Renly and Melisandre had perfect views of what was about to happen.

Finally, there was the sound of a door unlocking. Brienne straightened up, prepared to meet this latest adventure head on.

“Good evening, Miss Tarth,” said Tywin Lannister.


	88. Thoros (Losing My Religion 4 of 12)

The worst night of Thoros’ life started improbably at a family dinner that Beric’s parents had invited him to attend. Lately he had been a frequent guest at the Dondarrions’ house. It made Beric happy and it seemed to make Beric’s parents happy, and honestly it made Thoros kind of happy as well. Just the general knowledge that they didn’t hate him and seemed to approve of him in a low-key, Beric always seems so relaxed around you kind of way. Ceylena thought that Thoros made Beric more social and less stressed. Daric thought Thoros was hard working and made Beric more adventurous. Thoros thought Beric’s parents could think whatever they wanted as long as it was good enough for Beric.

Ceylena Dondarrion had somehow gotten the impression (probably from Beric) that Thoros was half-starved, and was always pressing leftovers in Tupperware on him. Melisandre might make fun of the Dondarrions adopting him as a pet, but she never seemed to complain when spaghetti with homemade bolognese sauce was on the menu.

They were halfway through dinner when Ceylena casually dropped the nuclear bomb that would destroy Thoros’ life.

“You haven’t mentioned Allyria in a while,” Ceylena said as she topped off Beric with another helping of pie. Beric flinched.

“Who?” Thoros asked, eyeing the pie. It was cherry, which was one of his favorites. 

“Beric’s girlfriend, Allyria Dayne,” Ceylena said, turning to give him a slice.

She was cutting him the biggest piece, and he was kind of excited about that, so it took what she was saying a while to process and even then, Thoros just felt very calm and disconnected.

“Beric has a girlfriend?”

“Mom, I don’t—“ Beric was saying at the same time, his face ashen.

“Oh for months now, you didn’t know? He’s so secretive about these things,” Ceylena Dondarrion laughed.

“I’ll say,” Thoros laughed as well, and he took a giant bite of pie. Then, because water wasn’t really doing it in terms of washing down the enormous lump in his throat, he pulled out his flask and took a healthy swig. Much better.

The Dondarrions were staring at him as if he had grown a second head. Oh was that rude? He took another long pull, and smacked his lips.

“This pie is just awesome, Mrs. D,” he grinned.

“Do you maybe want some wine, Thoros,” Daric Dondarrion cleared his throat. His son did that when he was uncomfortable too. His son who was looking like a ghost at the end of the table, mouth tight and unhappy.

“No, I prefer rum,” Thoros assured Daric. The rest of dessert was very quiet, only the sound of forks and knives quietly skittering across plates. Thoros finished what was in his flask, and was considering taking Daric up on his offer of wine when Beric spoke.

“Thoros, can I talk to you in the study for a second,” Beric said quietly.

“Yeah sure,” Thoros shrugged. He cut himself a second slice of pie to take with him.

He trailed Beric to the other end of the house. When Beric shut the door behind them firmly, Thoros wandered over to the sideboard and inspected Daric Dondarrion’s whiskey library. Maybe rum wasn’t quite strong enough. He found an 18-year old scotch and pulled the top off with his teeth, then had a long drink of that. It hurt more than rum going down his throat, but that felt about right for tonight.

“Allyria’s just a friend, I made up that girlfriend bit to get my mom off my back about leaving King’s Landing next year,” Beric was saying, turning to face him. 

He saw Thoros drinking directly from the scotch bottle and frowned.

“I’d prefer we have this conversation sober.”

“I’d prefer to have it drunk,” Thoros mockingly toasted him with the bottle and took another gulp.

“Hey, you don’t have anything to worry about. I literally haven’t seen Allyria since I brought her round to see my mom in like December,” Beric said gently. “I should have told you, I just didn’t want you to worry about us not being together next year when I had the situation under control.”

“And when were you planning on telling me?” Thoros raised an eyebrow. “Was I going to be invited to the wedding? What was your long-term plan? A house in the suburbs with a white picket fence and an apartment over the garage so you could fuck me on the side?”

“I think you’re overreacting,” Beric said evenly.

“I think we shouldn’t be fucking if you have a girlfriend,” Thoros gave back.

“I don’t have a girlfriend! I can walk into that dining room right now and tell my mom we broke up if it makes you happy!” Beric ran his hand through his hair exasperatedly.

“No Beric,” Thoros growled, sick of him missing the fucking point. “What would make me happy is if you walked into that dining room right now and told your mom you have a boyfriend and it’s me. That’s what would make me HAPPY.”

Beric looked stricken. He swallowed, eyes dropping to the floor.

“Thoros, I... I mean I want...” His hyper articulate vocabulary reduced to nonsensical stammering.

“They won’t care,” Thoros said, aware that his voice had taken on a pleading tone that he didn’t care for. “They love you, that’s not going to change.” 

He realized he didn’t want to be around when Beric tried to explain why the answer was no. He headed for the door, scotch still clutched in his hand.

“What—where are you going?!” Beric blurted.

“I’m leaving,” Thoros said. 

He got out of the study and was half way to the front door when Beric caught up to him.

“Please don’t go, we can figure this out,” Beric touched his arm. 

“I don’t have anything left to add to the conversation,” Thoros said flatly, eyes cold. “Was there something else you wanted to say?”

Beric withdrew his hand like he had been burned. Thoros continued out into the driveway. It was April, but there was a lingering chill in the air. He took another pull from the scotch bottle.

Beric caught up again and grabbed his shoulder.

“I think you’re being very unfair,” Beric said, voice low, almost angry.

Thoros brushed his hand off this time, a little harder than necessary.

“Yeah?” He asked sarcastically.

“Yeah,” Beric glared back. “This is literally the first time you have ever brought up the fact that keeping our relationship a secret bothers you. And you bring it up in the middle of dinner with my parents while getting wasted, and accompany it with an ultimatum that we go public right now?!”

“Sorry I didn’t follow parliamentary procedures, my lord,” he said the name mockingly, in a way he had never used it before, and Beric registered that and his eye narrowed. “I was too busy discovering that you had a secret girlfriend that you were deliberately hiding from me.”

“She’s not—“

“I don’t fucking care! This whole time, I’ve been trying so hard to get your parents to like me, and they finally did, and I always thought we were moving to a place where we were going to tell them. Only we weren’t. Like not at all. You never had any intention of telling them!”

Beric closed his eye. 

“Can we please talk about this when you’re sober?”

Thoros took another swallow from the bottle in response.

“I can’t have a serious conversation with you when you’re like this,” Beric growled.

“Like what?” Thoros spat. “Right?”

“Like a fucking drunk!” Beric snapped. 

He regretted saying it the moment the words came out, Thoros could see it in his face. It was too unkind, probably because it was too true. But if he wanted to go low, Thoros would go even lower. This was a game that Thoros never lost.

“Hey,” Beric swallowed, and he caught Thoros by both shoulders. “I didn’t...” Thoros shoved him backwards hard, and Beric stumbled and landed on his butt. Thoros squelched the voice in his head that was hissing at him to follow up with a kick to the face, to get him back, to make him feel how Thoros felt.

“If you touch me again, we’re going to fight,” Thoros sneered instead. “And don’t think for a second that I won’t win. In case you haven’t noticed, you have a hell of a blind spot.”

He said it viciously, the cruelest thing he could think of in the moment. 

Beric was still sitting on his ass, looking up at Thoros. They were close enough that Thoros could watch each reaction flicker across his face. Genuine pain, because Beric could barely look in the mirror without being reminded of what he had lost. Then anger, knowing that Thoros hadn’t said it in a slip up like Beric had, that he had said it for no other purpose than to hurt him. And finally pity, because he knew that Thoros was lashing out because he himself was hurting.

It stopped at that last one, and pity was the one thing that Thoros could not stomach. He turned to go again.

“Can we please talk about this tomorrow?” Beric finally said, his voice terribly small.

Thoros felt tired.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Pinkie promise?” Beric said. 

Thoros only turned to look partway, because he was worried he would cave if he looked him full in the face. He almost caved anyway, because Beric was actually fucking crying. Just for a second, and then he scrubbed the tear away with his sleeve. But long enough for Thoros to know that he was an awful person who hurt everything he loved. He should be apologizing, he should be holding him and telling him everything was going to be all right and he was sorry and he loved him and there was nothing they couldn’t get through together.

“Yeah,” is what he said instead.

He shoved the scotch in the back of his jeans and kept walking.

Got the bus to Hollow Hill. By the time he got to Hollow Hill, the bottle was empty, and that was a shame. He drank at the bar until Lem cut him off. That fucking asshole! After every overtime shift he’d pulled! He knew when he was fucking done!

Some dark haired girl was watching him from across the room, he knew her, where did he know her from? He tried to decide which of the four girls he currently saw spinning was the correct one, but by the time he was ready to pick one, all four had disappeared. He buried his head on the bar instead.

“It’s time for you to go home, we’re closing,” Clegane woke him up. “Don’t you dare puke on my shoes.”

“Fuck you hound,” Thoros retorted. Picking a fight with Beric hadn’t worked, but Sandor Clegane should be an easier target.

“Oh piss off,” Clegane grunted, and then grabbed him by the collar and half dragged, half carried him out of the bar before depositing him in the parking lot.

“No fight?” Thoros pressed. “Oh come on, you know you want to take a swing.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Clegane growled, but he made no move toward him.

“For a big hard man, you sure scare easy,” Thoros taunted. 

“For fuck’s sake,” Clegane groaned and he did start walking toward him. 

Thoros put his fists up, but more for show than with any intention of doing more than accepting this beating as divine retribution for hurting Beric. So he was unprepared when Clegane simply grabbed him with one arm and tossed him over his shoulder like a rucksack.

“Hey!” Thoros yelled, beating somewhat ineffectually on Clegane’s back. “Put me down!”

“I’m taking you to your apartment,” Clegane said stoically. 

“I’m serious, put me down or I’ll barf down your back,” Thoros threatened.

“Then I’ll kick your ass on Monday,” Clegane said grimly. “But tonight, you are going to bed.”

Thoros swore and shouted and kicked valiantly for the six blocks to his apartment, but Clegane got him to the door.

“Where are your keys?” Clegane demanded.

Thoros scowled at him and refused to answer. Clegane sighed, picked him up upside down and then shook him until assorted change, his flask, his phone, a bus pass and a key ring fell out.

“I may kick your ass on Monday anyway,” Clegane warned him as he collected Thoros and Thoros’ belongings and set off up the four flights of stairs. Thoros was still giving him the silent treatment.

Finally, they got to the top, and Clegane opened the door. He tossed Thoros’ possessions onto the sofa, and deposited Thoros on the floor.

“Where’s your sister?”

“At Stannis’ house,” Thoros mumbled. He really wasn’t feeling great. Perhaps that vomit comment had not been an idle threat.

“Well I have better things to do than watch you sleep to make sure you don’t drown in your puke. Just eat something and sleep on your side,” Clegane snapped his finger in front of Thoros’ face. “You got that?”

“Yeah,” Thoros pushed his hand away. “Got it. Go away now.”

Whether Clegane left or not, he wasn’t sure, because he felt his stomach heave. He frantically crawled to the bathroom, and then knelt over the porcelain bowl, retching helplessly. 

I deserve this, Thoros thought miserably. I made Beric cry.

He drifted in and out of wakefulness, primarily to throw up, for a while. There were footsteps outside in the common room. Clegane hadn’t left after all. Figured, he was just one more friend that Thoros didn’t particularly deserve. The nausea came again, and again his head dipped below the porcelain horizon.

When he came back up, there was the someone in the mirror. Thoros blinked. A man standing behind him, a rope in one hand and a cloth in the other. His head was shaved and he had flame tattoos on his cheeks.

That was really not good news. A surge of adrenaline hit, and Thoros bolted to the left. Almost immediately, the guy had him by the back of the head and drove his skull hard into the mirror. The mirror cracked violently, and Thoros’ face was wet.

Then the cloth was over his nose and mouth and Thoros struggled a bit before slowly going limp. When the guy let him drop to the ground before going for the rope, Thoros lashed out with his foot, catching him just above the knee cap and sending him staggering. Rule of thumb kids: if someone claps a cloth over your face, do not inhale!

Thoros scrambled to his feet and had gotten the door open when he felt the arm wrap around his neck and lift up. The cloth was over his face again, but he couldn’t breathe anyway, his legs kicking to touch the ground, his arm fighting to break the hold. Finally his assailant eased up and then he was gasping even as part of his brain was screaming no, the cloth. 

The world got a little blurry and his limbs got a lot heavier. He tried to wriggle away, but the man wasn’t having it. With one last desperate bubble of energy, he kicked out behind him and caught the guy in the groin. The cloth briefly disappeared, and he tried to make a run for it, the floor of his common room impossibly tilty, his legs feeling like sand. 

Melisandre will be so upset, came the thought, as the cloth came back and the edges of his vision turned to black. His eyes were closing. She could join the list of people he hurt. Everything was black now.

His last thought was that he wouldn’t be able to keep his pinkie promise to Beric.


	89. Jaime (Losing My Religion 5 of 12)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! Apologies to my non-North American readers (and I suppose North American readers with an early bedtime) for the late update; ever since I switched from evening updates to morning updates, I hadn't missed one. Today I woke up at 10:30 to discover I had forgotten to set my alarm... had 36 work emails and two missed calls from my boss! Update had to wait until after work :)

The Lannisters did not do ostentatious celebrations of their birthdays. When Tywin Lannister was their age, he had four younger siblings, a drunken waste of a father and an endless stream of his father’s mistresses to worry about. Do you think he had time for birthdays?

Jaime had often considered asking what the point was of Tywin accumulating a vast fortune if not to ensure that those around him did not have to relive his childhood. But he had long ago decided that his father liked to accumulate money simply to have it. Like one of Tolkien’s dragons, he was never so happy as when curled up on a giant hoard of gold (or stock returns in his case).

The plan for Jaime’s seventeenth birthday, as had been the plan for every birthday going as far back as Jaime could remember, was dinner. As always, Jaime and Cersei were each allowed to bring a guest. Usually Jaime selected Addam Marbrand for such adventures, for a dinner with Tywin Lannister was not for the faint of heart. But this year he had a girlfriend, so of course Brienne was coming and he would just have to pray that none of his family managed to alienate her enough for Brienne to finally come to her senses and realize what terrible people they all were.

Jaime was lying in bed the morning of his birthday worrying about this when he heard a polite knock on the window. He blinked and looked outside, only to be met with an identical face peering in.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Jaime drawled, opening the window a fraction, but not enough to let Cersei in.

“Don’t be ridiculous, open your window this instant,” Cersei said through gritted teeth, balanced precariously on their trellis. She had her hair pulled back in a low ponytail and was wearing what she had been wearing yesterday. It was an oddly tomboyish look for her, and Jaime rather enjoyed letting her hang, so to speak.

“That’s not a very polite way to ask,” he smiled.

“The trellis doesn’t go to my window, don’t be a jerk,” Cersei snapped.

“Why didn’t you use the front door? That’s what doors are for,” Jaime teased.

“You know father had ears like a...”

“Bat?”

“If you like,” Cersei pushed against the window, trying to pry it open further. Jaime held it fast.

“Jaime!” She yelled.

“Tsk tsk, the bat will hear you.”

“I would think you’d be nicer to me seeing as you know who is coming to dinner,” Cersei arched an eyebrow.

Shit.

Jaime let the window swing open. Cersei sniffed and swung herself into the room.

“Happy birthday,” Jaime managed a wan smile.

“Indeed,” Cersei replied coldly.

“How’s Robert?” Jaime pressed on.

“Enthusiastic,” Cersei narrowed her eyes. “How’s Brienne? Would you know?”

Jaime had the lingering sense that this birthday was not going to go well.

As he patiently waited in the entryway at Crossroads, he reflected that at least he wasn’t the only one who felt this way.

“Father’s still on his phone,” Cersei sulked. 

“Somebody should tell your boyfriend that his hiding place would be a little less obvious if he didn’t own the world’s most recognizable car.”

Cersei looked over at the Bugatti idling in the lot. The door opened, and a familiar blonde girl stepped out.

“Somebody should tell your girlfriend that she shouldn’t wear shoes she can’t walk in,” Cersei retorted.

“Can you two be civil?!” Tyrion hissed. “I happen to like both of your significant others, a development that I frankly NEVER expected on your part Cersei, so I would appreciate you two not scaring them away!”

Jaime, chastened, mumbled an apology. Cersei sneered.

“Brienne! Darling, take off those heels before you hurt yourself!” She pushed past both of them to greet Jaime’s girlfriend.

Jaime raised an eyebrow at Tyrion.

“I should have known she’d double down to spite me,” Tyrion sighed. “But don’t be mean to Robert. I like Robert.”

“He’s a drunk,” Jaime scowled.

“I know,” Tyrion grinned. “He’s my role model.”

“Excuse me, I have to rescue my girlfriend,” Jaime frowned. “Silence shrew,” he called to Cersei. “Brienne, you must never take off those heels.”

He rescued the moment before Cersei could ruin it entirely, and Brienne shot him a grateful look. He loved those looks. They made him feel like a knight in shining armor that hadn’t quite managed to screw everything up.

That feeling lasted all the way through being seated, through ordering enough booze to pickle a dozen livers, through the drinks being served. All the way up until Cersei leaned back and asked if Jaime and Brienne would be going in on a hotel suite.

She could be so unbearable sometimes. Where had she had gotten that from? Oh right, their father.

He shut down the conversation as firmly as he could manage, although the downside was that even someone as naive as Brienne could pick up that something was wrong when you called your sister a bitch. But it was fine. He had the entire night to distract her.

At first it seemed like he was succeeding. Brienne fended off his father’s questions about her grades and her extracurriculars well enough, and after that last jab, Cersei had gone back to being tolerable. The occasional searching glances he sent Brienne were met with tentative smiles. 

Then Tyrion erupted into hysterical giggling over something—gods knew with that kid—and Brienne escorted him outside. When they came back, she looked like she had been punched in the gut. Tyrion. Tyrion had said something.

Jaime inwardly seethed. The one angle from which he had seen no issues. Tyrion loved Brienne, what had he been thinking?! What had he said?!

There were no opportunities to question his little brother, not through three courses, nor the drive home. Jaime had embraced Brienne before they left and she had given him a blank look, almost hurt. What had Tyrion said?!

When they finally got home and everybody hurried to their respective corners of the house, Jaime immediately stormed to Tyrion’s room.

“You upset Brienne!” He accused, before Tyrion had even opened his mouth.

“I did not!” 

“She’s my girlfriend, I know when she’s upset!” Jaime growled. “What did you say to her when you guys were outside?!”

“Nothing!” Tyrion held his hands up. “I apologized for Cersei being so mean about the whole waiting for sex thing!”

Jaime slapped his forehead. Unbelievable.

“She didn’t know that we were waiting for sex, Tyrion.”

“Oh,” Tyrion’s face fell. “But in my defense, shouldn’t she? Like that seems like information that affects her?”

“It hasn’t come up,” Jaime ground out. He hated it when Tyrion started making sense.

“I see,” Tyrion nodded as if Jaime were being perfectly reasonable. “And now that it will, in all likelihood, come up?”

“Thanks to you,” Jaime groused.

“What are you going to say?” Tyrion pressed, as if he hadn’t heard.

Jaime fidgeted. That he wasn’t sure he deserved Brienne? That he was scared if she slept with him, she would regret it? That the idea of letting her down was already a constantly recurring fear of his, and letting her down after they had been intimate only raised the stakes exponentially?! 

“It probably won’t come up,” he shrugged. Tyrion raised an eyebrow.

“I’m going to my bedroom,” Jaime said awkwardly, trying to escape his brother’s stare. 

“I disapprove of your life decisions!” Tyrion called after him as he shut the door.

But like, it had never come up before. Brienne probably wouldn’t say anything about it. Tyrion didn’t know what he was talking about. He was twelve! He’d never had a girlfriend.

At 11:45 at night, Jaime got the text.

_Downstairs, wanted to see you, let me in?_

That was a little unusual. Still. No reason to panic.

_Coming!_

He hurried for the door. Only to hear it open.

Don’t panic. He broke into a light jog. Tyrion? Cersei?

“Good evening Miss Tarth,” his father said coldly.

Panic. He sprinted.

“It is quite late for visitors. I hope you have an appropriate excuse for this breach in decorum,” Tywin continued.

Jaime slid down the bannister and landed in front of them with a thump.

“I’m here!” He gasped.

“So you are,” Tywin Lannister’s nostrils flared. “Have the stairs done something to offend you, that you now eschew their use?”  
Brienne was looking at him in mute appeal. She was wearing the same heels she’d been wearing earlier, and a rather odd looking trench coat that he hadn’t seen before.

“You know me, all about efficiency. And I didn’t want to be rude and keep my guest waiting,” Jaime gave his father his best guileless smile. His father looked wholly unimpressed.

“Why don’t you try not being rude and helping your guest out of her coat instead? Surely you can manage that?”

Jaime blushed and reached for Brienne’s coat. She slapped his hand away. He blinked and tried again. This time she grabbed it, digging her nails into his wrist.

“Evidently not,” Tywin sighed. “Although to be fair, she seems to be making the task rather difficult.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Brienne reddened. “I’m just a little cold.”

Tywin and Jaime looked at each other. It was quite warm in their house, as Cersei ruled the thermostat with an iron fist and a low body temperature. 

“Perhaps had you not gone gallivanting across town in the middle of the night,” Jaime’s father offered. 

“I won’t be long,” Brienne rushed to assure him. “I just, I mean, well I forgot to give him his birthday present.”

Dear gods, more birthday presents? She had already gotten him a dozen at least. Each one making Jaime feel more and more mortified about his gift on her birthday (two tickets to Medieval Times, which to be fair she had loved, but it was hardly a dozen tickets to a dozen different events that she had casually mentioned in passing months ago). 

“Well go on then,” his father stared.

“It’s private,” Brienne said firmly.

“Is my presence in the foyer of MY house intrusive? I do apologize,” Tywin Lannister sneered.

“C’mon, we can go upstairs,” Jaime took her hand and squeezed it.

“Tomorrow is a school day!” Tywin shouted after them.

“He hates me,” Brienne groaned, the moment they were out of earshot.

“Not as much as Robert,” Jaime offered weakly.

“First, that is an incredibly low bar,” Brienne grumbled. “Second, Robert actively works at it. I’m trying to get him to like me! Can you imagine if I stopped trying? Or worse, if Robert stopped trying?”

“The psychopath who allegedly produced me might prefer somebody else? It doesn’t seem like the worst outcome,” Jaime kissed her head. “He hates everyone. Stop worrying.”

They got to his room, and Jaime let her in before closing the door.

“So where’s this secret present,” he smiled. Brienne gulped. Why was she still so nervous? He had gotten rid of his father. He wanted another one of those happy grateful looks.

“Jaime,” Brienne fixed him instead with a look that was part mortified and part determined. And then she dropped her coat.

She was breathtaking. Had he thought her legs were long at dinner? That was nothing compared to them now. Was it possible for a person to be made entirely of legs? He was staring at her and vaguely aware that he might be drooling. 

She walked over to him and kissed him, and it was like the spell was broken. He wanted her, all of her, and how was he ever going to get her out of this ridiculous contraption?!

He reached in back for the clasp, a move that he could absolutely do with his left hand only because he had been training for this since middle school. Only, there was no clasp. He tried to slide one of the straps off her shoulder, but that only seemed to pull the other straps tighter, and Brienne twitched slightly in discomfort. With some regret, he broke the kiss.

“How do we get you out of this thing?” He asked breathlessly.

“I don’t know,” Brienne giggled. “I don’t know how I got into it, to tell you the truth. Melisandre must have done some magic.”

Melisandre put her up to this? No wonder she had managed to break Stannis. This outfit would break just about anybody. 

Jaime looked at Brienne fondly, her slightly pink cheeks, her bright blue eyes, the blonde bobbed hair that despite what Cersei tried to say on her nicer days would never be stylish but was still so Brienne that it would never matter. 

Ugh. He couldn’t do this to her. They needed to talk. He hated when Tyrion was right.

“This wasn’t really my birthday present was it?” He asked drily. 

Brienne gave a half-hearted shrug.

“What’s up? I thought we were happy at the pace we were going,” he said. “I don’t want to rush into anything just to prove Cersei wrong. Half the time that’s what she’s gambling on and it never ever works.”

“We weren’t going at any pace, though,” she bit her lip. “I want this, but I’m starting to worry that you don’t.”

“I do,” Jaime groaned before he could stop himself. “You have no idea what you do to me, wench. I need like the coldest shower imaginable after this. It’s requiring all my self control not to take some scissors or a blowtorch to this contraption.”

“Then what’s going on?” Brienne asked in a small voice, and Jaime hated that voice, hated that she would say anything in that voice because of him.

“I don’t want to let you down, Brienne. I... I love you.” 

There. Not in a jokey way like on Val’s Day. Just simple and sincere, and she could take it or leave it but if she left it he might have to go die.

Brienne smiled at him, one of her special smiles that were even better than her grateful looks.

“You could never let me down. Because I love you too.”


	90. Melisandre (Losing My Religion 6 of 12)

Melisandre woke up, snuggled into Stannis’ arms. He looked much calmer in his sleep than he had been last night, fuming about Davos’ life decisions. She didn’t particularly want to wake him, but she had to get back to her apartment to get her stuff before school.

Slowly she untangled herself, and then crept over to where he had at some point neatly folded the clothes she had discarded.

“You leaving?” He asked when she was just about dressed. He was looking unaccountably forlorn.

“Yeah, I’ll see you at school,” she smiled at him. “Things will be better, you’ll see.”

“They won’t be,” Stannis said flatly.

Melisandre rolled her eyes and swept off. If only he wouldn’t take this thing with Davos so personally. So they had a fight. All couples fought! Not that he and Davos were a couple per se, but sometimes it felt that way.

She brooded on the bus. Davos had always been there to sort out their spats. If felt like the least she could do to fix this one. Only Stannis had been so intractable. She’d finally just given up and gone off on an adventure with Renly instead, because she had the distinct impression that she might really lose her temper if he shut down her thoughtful and well-reasoned arguments one more time. And then Davos wouldn’t be talking to Stannis who wouldn’t be talking to her. It was a disaster in the making.

She hoped Davos would still pick her up. She rather suspected he would, if only to see what she knew and try to ascertain the damage.

Back at the apartment, she breezed into her bedroom, took a quick shower, changed, and grabbed her things.

“Thoros?!”

No response. Probably still asleep.

On cue, her phone buzzed.

_Need a ride?_

“What’d he say?” Davos demanded the moment she sat down. Melisandre took stock. He had some stubble and dark circles under his eyes. 

“That you got picked up with some Greyjoy thugs unloading stolen goods.” She shrugged to show that the charges didn’t bother her. They didn’t.

“That’s it?” Davos raised an eyebrow.

“Well something about you spitting on his friendship and throwing away your life and the decay of western civilization.”

“Yeah,” Davos sighed. “That sounds about right.”

“You should’ve called me. I’ve been bailing out Thoros since I was twelve.”

“It was a shady neighborhood,” Davos pulled a face. “But yes, I should have.”

They drove in silence for a minute or two.

“So is he going to forgive me?” Davos asked abruptly.

“I don’t know,” Melisandre shot him an accusing look. Davos was the relationship therapist not her!

“You’re supposed to say, of course he will Davos, don’t be silly Davos.”

“Of course he will Davos, don’t be silly Davos,” Melisandre repeated in an unconvincing monotone.

“Why are we friends?!” Davos glared at her. She punished him by not speaking for the rest of the ride.

“Did Davos drive you here?!” Stannis caught her arm the moment he saw her in the hallway. Melisandre considered screaming.

“He does every morning.”

“You are my girlfriend! You are not to accept rides from a criminal!”

“Didn’t you get a ride from Robert? Thoros said the police picked him up in Myr.”

“That was a misunderstanding!” Stannis huffed.

She rolled her eyes and kissed his cheek before peeling off to homeroom. She was starting to feel a new level of empathy for Davos. It was really annoying when friends fought, and honestly distracted from her own issues which were much more interesting and important.

Like Kinvara.

“Hi whore,” Kinvara stepped in front of her, sneering. Melisandre tilted her head. Kinvara hadn’t met her gaze since the night of Val’s Day.

“How’s Thoros?” Kinvara smirked.

“Fine. Are you dumpster diving?” Melisandre retorted. “He’ll be flattered but uninterested.”

“Bitch,” Kinvara snapped.

“Your vocabulary is so limited,” Melisandre tossed her hair. “I really worry about your standardized test scores. Better start looking for a tutor.”

First period in Literature, Davos explained how Stannis was an uptight inflexible ass who couldn’t be bothered to summon the teeniest dreg of empathy. Second period in Math, Stannis explained how Davos was an ungrateful and two-faced friend who had no long-term vision and ignored people who were just trying to stop him from throwing his life away.

Third period was Advanced Foreign Language. Thoros was a rare no-show. Seriously, you could do this class high or drunk and Jaqen didn’t care.

“Hi Melisandre!” Jorah chirped. “Have you seen Thoros?”

“No,” Melisandre growled. What did she care if he slept through lunch?

At lunch, she couldn’t help but cast a glance over at his usual table. Clegane was gesturing accusingly at Brienne, who was sinking ever lower into her chair. Beside her, Jaime was rolling his eyes. Beric was looking fidgety.

“Is the tuna salad worse than the meatloaf?” Melisandre tossed the question out to the table as she poked her lump of fish stuff. It quivered alarmingly.

Stannis glared at Davos. Davos glared at Stannis.

“I think it is,” Melisandre tossed out a deliberately controversial opinion just to break the silence. In that, she failed.

It was almost a relief when Beric came up.

“Hey, can I talk to you for a second?” He asked quietly. She shot a scathing glare at her currently mute companions.

“Nothing better to do,” she noted acidly.

“Have you seen Thoros?” He asked, when they were well out of earshot of anybody. Part of Melisandre really wanted to shout back ‘you mean my brother, your BOYFRIEND?’’ But she didn’t.

“Why? You’re like the third person to ask,” she frowned.

“He didn’t come to school today,” Beric said bluntly.

“Yeah, he does that sometimes. It’s called cutting class,” Melisandre crossed her arms to disguise the frisson of worry that had started creeping down her spine.

“He promised me we would talk today,” Beric looked at her mournfully, as if she could do anything about the fact that her deadbeat brother hadn’t showed.

“Awww. Did you pinkie swear on it?” Melisandre sneered.

“Yes,” Beric said, sounding completely serious and heart-broken. And then Melisandre conceded to herself that something might be wrong.

She skipped her afternoon classes, because fuck school. The find-my-phone app said Thoros was still at their apartment. She took a bus back to High Hill. 

“THOROS!” She yelled, the moment she got into the apartment. It felt so much quieter. His phone was on the sofa. Why hadn’t she noticed that this morning? 

She poked her head into his bedroom. Nothing. The bed was made. He hadn’t slept in it. She walked further in, knocked on the bathroom door, which was shut.

No response.

She pushed the door open. At first she only registered that it was empty, that the toilet seat was up and the bowl filled with rancid vomit. She wrinkled her nose and flushed the toilet with her foot. Then she looked up.

The mirror had been smashed. A circular impact with cracks radiating outward. Shards in the sink. Was that.. dried blood in the crevasses?

Melisandre took a deep breath. 

She walked back out to the common room. His wallet was on the couch. His keys. His flask. She traced the spiral etching on the flask uneasily. He had never been without his flask since she gave it to him for his birthday in October.

She sat down, and opened his phone. His lock screen was generic. His password was her birthday. His background once she had the phone open was a selfie of him and Beric on the beach at Myr. 

She opened his conversation history. He had numerous missed texts from Beric.

_I love you, you know that right?_

_I couldn’t sleep last night._

_I hate when we fight._

_I’m sorry, I honestly didn’t know how much keeping our relationship a secret bothered you. It doesn’t have anything to do with you, I promise. We can tell my parents, just call me back?_

_There’s nothing going on with me and Allyria. She’s just some girl I knew from camp that I thought my mom would approve of. I told my parents she wasn’t in the picture. I wanted to tell them the rest, but I’m not sure what the rest is? Are you breaking up with me?_

_Um didn’t hear from you, and you’re not in class. Can you just let me know you’re okay?_

Melisandre stopped reading after that. What was the point? Beric was a dick who had a fake girlfriend. Thoros had gotten blackout drunk, wandered home to puke his guts out, then punched a mirror on the way out for round two. He was probably sleeping in an alley somewhere. He would be buzzing to get back into the apartment in the middle of the night, depriving her of her hard earned beauty sleep.

She put her nose to the grindstone and started trying to work.

Thoros’ phone started ringing. It was Beric.

“Hi asshole,” she answered it.

“Is he there?!” Beric sounded frantic.

“Nope,” Melisandre kicked her feet onto the sofa and leaned back.

“Why do you have his phone? Has he spoken to you? Can you—“

“Look,” Melisandre was trying to keep her voice light, but there was no keeping out the frost entirely. “My brother, for completely unfathomable reasons of his own, has insecurities about not being good enough for you. Maybe as a result of you refusing to acknowledge your relationship, just a thought. And then he found out that you were fake dating someone who you deemed more socially acceptable? Honestly, I’m not surprised that he blew off your stupid talk. I’m only surprised you ever thought he would stick around.”

She hung up before Beric could say anything in response.

Thoros did not wake her up in the middle of the night demanding to be let in. She slept uneasily as a result, waking up at the slightest noises from the apartments around them.

Finally, when Thoros’ phone had gone off for the third time, she decided she would get no further sleep. She picked up his cell off the couch as it began ringing for the fourth time.

“STOP CALLING!” She yelled at Beric and then hung up. She made some tea and sipped it moodily. It was a little odd that he hadn’t come back. All of his possessions were here. She went back to his room and looked under his bed. The suitcase where he stashed all of his money was still there. She pulled it out and looked inside. Wow, that was a lot. He’d mentioned that they had done well at the casinos in Myr, but wow. Melisandre fought the urge to pocket a couple bills and pushed the suitcase back below the bed. They hadn’t been robbed. 

She could stop by the Hollow Hill after school. If he’d been drinking, he would have started there.

“He’s probably fine,” Stannis said flatly when she shared her concerns at lunch. “It’s not your job to clean up after his benders,” he glared at Davos.

Davos tore open his milk carton with unnecessary force.

“Note that he could also be bleeding out by the side of the road and Stannis wouldn’t care,” Davos growled under his breath. 

Melisandre decided to eat in the second floor girl’s bathroom instead.

“How’s everything going skank?” Kinvara cooed as she passed. That was the second time she had spoken to her in two days. What was up with that? Why did she look like the cat that ate the canary?

She got to the Hollow Hill at about the time that Thoros’ shift at work should have started. A part of her hoped that he would come slouching through the door smelling like a pig sty and asking if she had seen his keys.

“Don’t tell me he’s sent you to take his shift,” Clegane fixed her with an incredulous stare. “I was mostly kidding about the beat down, he can’t avoid me forever.”

“What?” Melisandre asked. “What beat down? Have you seen him?”

Clegane groaned.

“I can’t believe I have to go through this twice. Yeah, I saw him Sunday night, he was hammered even by his standards. I got him home. He was asleep on his bathroom floor when I saw him last.”

“Did he say anything about going out again?” Melisandre blurted.

“He wasn’t going anywhere, sweetheart,” Clegane sneered.

“Was the mirror broken when you were in there?” Melisandre pressed.

“Not that I saw. I don’t make a habit of looking at mirrors.” 

“What about—“

“Enough. I told everything I know to him, so why don’t you run along and compare notes,” Clegane jerked his thumb to a familiar and forlorn looking figure at the bar.

Melisandre sighed. She walked over and hopped on the stool next to him.

“Who orders a sparkling water at a bar?” She asked snidely.

“I didn’t know what to get,” Beric mumbled. “I usually just have whatever Thoros is having.”

Melisandre gave a longer, deeper sigh.

“Lem, we will have two of your cheapest draft beer,” she announced. “There, was that so hard?”

Beric took a long drink of his beer to avoid answering.

“I am prepared to concede that something might be going on besides your stupid fight,” Melisandre admitted. 

Beric immediately looked up.

“I know you think this is because I’m an asshole, but I promise something’s really wrong. Clegane doesn’t think he would have left the apartment at all Sunday night. I called the hospitals, but nobody has any records of him or any Jon Doe meeting his description. I was thinking maybe I could canvass the people in your apartment building—“ 

“Stop,” Melisandre felt like she was capturing a wind up toy and forcing it into stillness. “If you go into our apartment building and start asking strangers questions, you will get stabbed.”

“I have to do something,” Beric said miserably. “He’s in trouble, I can’t just sit here and I don’t know what else to do.”

She got the distinct impression that if she didn’t give him something to do, he would go off and canvass the building anyway, stabbings be damned.

“I will ask the people in our apartment building. In theory we have video cameras. At least some of them must be actually functional. I will give you a list of bars to check in case he did go out. And also, I need you to call this number and ask for Thoros’ usual order,” she wrote it down neatly on a napkin.

“Okay,” Beric nodded, pathetically earnest. “I can do that.”

Melisandre suspected that Beric would bring her back the sword of Azhor Azhai if she told him she needed it to find Thoros.

“I find you very irritating,” she told him. 

“I know,” Beric blushed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Melisandre snipped. “Just be less.”

“Less what?” 

“Everything.”

Either the neighbors didn’t see anything or they didn’t want to tell her. Melisandre roused the super from his office lair and harassed him into pulling the tapes from the security cameras. As she had suspected, most of the cameras were dead, the most recent footage laughably old. She sat alone in the room where a guard was supposed to sit, going through footage that was in some cases from years ago. 

Finally she found one from the front entrance that still worked, and she rewound until she could see the giant hulking figure of Sandor Clegane slowly plodding up the street. Even when there was a strange tightness in her chest at the thought of her brother and where he could be, she still had to roll her eyes at the sight of Clegane and Thoros drunkenly arguing in front of the door until Clegane picked him up and shook the keys out of his pocket. She picked it up to 1.5x speed. Clegane left. She picked it up to 2x speed. Nothing. She pressed the button for 4x speed. The sun rose comically quickly, people shuffled in and out like hyperactive phantoms. And then—there. She paused the tape. It was her, coming back from her night at Stannis’.

Thoros had not left by the front entrance.

The tightness in her chest was getting worse, and Melisandre focused on breathing through her nose and out through her mouth. Only the staff had keys to the side entrance. The way nobody on their floor had looked her in the eye, had given her a straight answer. The way Kinvara had smiled at her. ‘How’s Thoros?’ she’d asked. Like she knew something Melisandre didn’t. The way Kinvara had screamed at her. ‘I’ll get you back if it’s the last thing I do.’ 

The footage had long since run out on the screen when Beric found her, arms wrapped around her knees staring blankly at her black reflection. 

“I called you several times,” he said in a mildly reproachful tone. “I had to walk around asking if anyone knew where you were. I was getting a lot of stares. You would think they’d never seen an eyepatch before.”

“It’s not the eyepatch,” she spared him a scornful look. “You’re not wearing red.”

“Oh,” Beric looked surprised.

“You never noticed? You practically live here.”

“It’s different being here without Thoros,” Beric swallowed. “I went to all of the bars you listed and nobody has seen him since Sunday.”

“Not surprising, I was just trying to keep you busy,” Melisandre slowly uncurled her legs. 

“What?!” Beric gave her a stern look. “Every minute we waste is a minute he could be in trouble, I don’t think sending me on fool’s errands is—”

“Did you get my refill?”

“Melisandre,” Beric’s voice dropped to a scandalized whisper. “That was Anguy’s number! You sent me to buy drugs!”

“It’s weed, Beric, not crystal meth.”

“It is against the law—”

“Unless you have a prescription which anybody with a disposable income can get. I’m surprised YOU don’t have one.”

“It makes me tired,” Beric admitted sheepishly. “But we need to be finding Thoros and I don’t think—”

“Right. Don’t think. You and your stupid ideas have caused quite enough damage,” Melisandre snapped. Even as she said it, she knew she was being unfair, that between the two of them she was significantly more responsible for Thoros’ current predicament. All the same, she could feel the anger burning hot through her veins, a magma set on destroying anything in its path.

Beric flinched but didn’t say anything. She didn’t like that about him, how he so rarely punched back. She added it to her list.

“Come on,” she said and headed for the fire pits.

“Do you know how to build a fire?” She demanded.

“I was an Eagle Scout.”

“Of course you were,” she narrowed her eyes. “Well what are you waiting for? Build.”

She puffed moodily on a joint as she watched him coax the flames to a respectable height. Then he sat down, a wary distance away. She tried not to think about him, tried not to think about anything really, just hold the question in your mind like a bauble. No emotion, no extraneous cares or concerns, no…

“What are you doing?” Beric asked bluntly.

“Looking to the flames for guidance,” Melisandre said through gritted teeth. Had Thoros made like any effort to explain their religion to him? 

“Because it seems as if you’re just getting high, and my boyfriend might be dying in an alley somewhere.”

“He’s not. And I thought you had a girlfriend,” Melisandre bit back. Beric’s head jerked up and his jaw clenched and for a second she thought he might punch back after all.

“What do you mean he’s not? How do you know?” He said abruptly instead.

“I strongly suspect that he was reported for remedial education,” Melisandre said calmly, refusing to let her voice quaver.

“What is that?” Beric leaned forward.

“It’s like…” Melisandre searched for words to try and whitewash it, but the incandescent rage crackling though her brain incinerated the kinder words as fast as she could supply them. “Reprogramming,” she finally muttered. Because fuck them. Just the thought felt sacrilegious, a brimstone blasphemy. But how dare they. Take the word of Kinvara Volant that… That what? That he cursed and drank and didn’t dress well? It couldn’t just be Kinvara. Someone was behind this, and she was going to find them, if she had to burn down the entire light-blasted temple to do it. But who?

The flames shifted. A pitch black face wreathed in wild hair stared back. Moqorro.


	91. Melisandre (Losing My Religion 7 of 12)

It was too late to find Moqorro at the temple of course. But she told Beric to meet her the next morning, tried not to think about how that would be the third day since her brother disappeared. How long did it take to reprogram a person anyway? To erase everything about them that made them who they were and stick in your own stuffing?

She liked to think that Thoros would last longer than three days. He might not be particularly brave but he was stubborn to the point of spitefulness. They had that in common.

She didn’t sleep. She called their parents and got their voicemail. Listened to the cheerful tinny greeting. When it came time to leave a message she hung up.

She called Stannis and he told her he hadn’t meant it, that she should do what she wanted to do and to tell him what she needed. She told him she needed to be quiet and listen to him talk, so he talked to her for hours about his childhood, until he was half-asleep and incoherent. I love you, she mumbled before hanging up. Because she didn’t say that much, and sometimes people left and you couldn’t remember when you had said it last and when had she said it last to Thoros?

She flitted from room to room of their tiny apartment like a ghost, tidying things and brooding. His flask was empty so she filled it. She made his bed. He had left his hoodie (He never wore it to Beric’s parents’ house, god forbid they see him and think... what? That he was a normal high schooler?) and she folded it and refolded it endlessly, tracing his stupid crooked stitches from where he had sewed it back up after his fight with Euron. Why hadn’t she offered to help? Hadn’t he gotten those cuts protecting her? He always protected her and she had gotten him in trouble, she had taunted Kinvara, humiliated her and dared her to hit back, never thinking that the blow might not land on her.

Finally the sun was coming up, and she climbed the fire escape and dangled her legs off the ledge at the edge of the roof and watched as it chased the darkness back and set the world alight.

She could see the temple in the distance, see the smoke of the fires they kept burning always. For the night is dark and full of terrors. But the real darkness was within, always within, and who was praying for protection against their protectors?

Beric called. This time she answered it.

“The door’s open, I’m on the roof,” she said. Not so very long after, she heard the clank of the fire escape and his footsteps. He sat on the ledge next to her, a little further back, perhaps less keen to be on the precipice of utter oblivion.

“Thoros likes to watch for shooting stars up here,” Beric said. I know, she wanted to say. He’s my brother and you hurt him. But of course, there was that irony again. Nowhere near as much as she had hurt him. And the call was coming from inside the house all along.

“He does,” she agreed tiredly. Only the white hot anger pulsing through her brain kept her awake, but it was ravenous.

“I’m going to fix it,” he promised, apropos of nothing. “I know I hurt him and... and...” his voice caught slightly but it steadied, “and he really didn’t deserve that because he’s the best person I know. But we’re going to find him, and even if he never speaks to me again I’m going to tell him how sorry I am and make it right. Just... fix it.”

But that was how she felt too. She was going to fix it if she had to napalm the world to do it.

“Let’s go then,” she said, and he held the door like a knight gallant ready to tilt at monsters. She swept through with her chin up, not a lady because ladies couldn’t hate like she could. A witch maybe.

By the time she had led Beric through the winding streets and up the temple stairs and across the courtyard and down the halls to Moqorro’s office, she had built a rare head of steam. He liked Thoros! How could he do that, the doddering senile fool, acting like all he cared about was feeding the hungry and the entire time he had been looking for a chance to sell them out.

She slammed open the door to his office without preamble and sneered when he smiled gently up at her.

“A new friend I see. Was the old not good enough?”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” she rebuffed him coldly. “Why did you do it?”

“Excuse me?”

“He liked you, you know. And I thought you liked us! What he did ever do to you?! Don’t tell me it was because Kinvara volunteers more or donates more or some asinine bullshit, she’s a fake and I can’t believe you would ever—“

Moqorro stood up with a sigh. He was actually quite tall, his wild fluff of white hair giving him another two inches beyond that. Melisandre glared and straightened to her full five foot seven height, not intimidated for a second.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but it’s early and I believe you have school.”

“Thoros is missing,” Beric said suddenly, in the first words he’d spoken since he’d entered the temple.

Moqorro’s head snapped toward him.

“What?”

Beric swallowed. “He’s been missing since Sunday and he’s not in any of the hospitals and he vanished from his apartment basically. Melisandre thinks—“

“I KNOW.”

“That someone reported him for remedial education—”

“It was Kinvara Volant and she’s lying to get back at me—”

“And you might know something about it.”

Moqorro looked at them impassively for a moment.

“I don’t,” he said finally. “Sister, I would have never made that call. He’s a good kid, I don’t have any problems with him. He reminds me a little of myself at that age.”

Melisandre felt her eyes start to prickle with tears. His words had the ring of truth, but the flames had shown her his face! She knew they had. What if the Lord of Light didn’t want her to find him?

“I saw you in the flames,” she ground out. “When I was looking for him.”

Moqorro spread his hands.

“I promise it wasn’t me. Any extractions have to be run through Brother Benerro. Ask him if you like.”

“He hates Thoros!” Melisandre stomped her foot. “That’s not fair, you know he won’t help.”

“You said you didn’t report him,” Beric stepped in softly. “Do you know where he is?”

This time there was a flicker of hesitation.

“I don’t,” Moqorro shook his head. “Now off with you, I have a busy day.”

Melisandre glanced at Beric and he gave a slight nod to confirm that he too had seen it. Maybe the Lord had shown her Moqorro for a reason. Not because he was to blame, but because he could help.

“You could maybe find out, couldn’t you?” Beric asked earnestly. “There must be a way, there must be a record of it somewhere. With an administrator’s password, a little time...”

Moqorro gave a bark of laughter and gestured to his terrifyingly messy office, stacked high with folders and paperwork.

“Does it look like we have entered the twenty-first century, young man? It’s not on any computer.”

“But it’s somewhere,” Beric pressed. “I know you can find it, I know you can help Thoros. You said he reminded you of you at that age—wouldn’t you have wanted someone to help us if you had been in that situation? Wouldn’t you want someone to do the right thing?”

Moqorro fidgeted under the blindingly bright gaze.

“Who is this?” He arched an eyebrow at Melisandre. “He doesn’t seem like your usual type.”

“He’s...” Melisandre trailed off and looked at Beric uncertainly. 

“I’m Thoros’ boyfriend,” Beric said firmly and with only a slight blush .

“I should have known that under all that cynicism was a romantic,” Moqorro shook his head ruefully. “I’ll never let him hear the end of it.”

Melisandre opened her mouth, then shut it, afraid to break Beric’s spell.

“So you’ll help us get him back?” Beric asked.

“I don’t know where the education sites are. But Brother Benerro is having lunch with some donors later, I can go to his office and have a look around. To order an extraction requires paperwork after all, everything filed in triplicate, witness statements and personal observations and requisition requests. There’s no way he’s finished, I’ll find something lying around.”

“And in the mean time, we can—” Melisandre started.

“Go to school,” Moqorro suggested in a voice that implied it was more of a command.

“But if—”

“Go to school, Melisandre,” Moqorro pressed his fingers to his temples. “Meet me at the Eastwatch soup kitchen this afternoon after class and I should have something for you.”

“But—” This time it was Beric who dragged her from the room.

“That’s a good sign right?” He asked, drumming his fingers nervously on the wheel as he drove them to school. “I didn’t want to piss him off but it seemed like he would help us? You think he was telling the truth, right?”

“Yeah. You were really good,” she said grudgingly. 

“Why couldn’t the priest just call us though? I’m worried that we’re just wasting hours when we should be getting the police involved now. Who knows what they’re even doing to him,” Beric frowned, not even registering the compliment.

“He could get fired for helping us. That’s why he doesn’t want us coming back to the temple or any kind of phone record,” Melisandre said. “Thoros will be okay…” Probably. “It’s not like they’re trying to kill him.”

“Are you going to get in trouble?” Beric asked.

“For calling the police on the red temple?” Melisandre gave him a humorless smile. Still, the rage that had subsided into a sluggish ooze flared again. Let them come. 

She skipped Literature, the one class she had with Kinvara. She didn’t know what she might do to her if she saw her. She called her parents again. Got their voicemail again. Hung up again. What were you supposed to say? Hey, both of your children are about to get excommunicated and lose their housing and their scholarship. One may or may not be brain dead. Send help? Also you probably won’t talk to us any more. It was nice knowing you. You were pleasant people and adequate as parents. I loved you.

She found she didn’t want to go to Advanced Foreign Language either. She was tired of hiding out in the library, so at the change over she wandered down to the sports fields. She lay in the middle of the soccer field on her back, smelling the fresh spring grass. Above her, it was a completely cloudless day. She realized she hadn’t slept all night, and this was a perfectly good, perfectly empty field for the next six hours. She closed her eyes.

When she woke up, Stannis was sitting next to her, reading.

“Hey,” she said groggily.

“Hey,” he spared her a cautious look and then went back to his book.

“What time is it?” 

“Two. You missed lunch. I have a candy bar in my bag if you want it.”

“How long have you been down here?”

“I saw you walking down from my classroom window. I came down after Valyrian got out.”

“So you missed lunch too?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me. Thank you,” Melisandre struggled in a sitting position and leaned against him. “I’m about to lose my scholarship from the temple.”

“You mean for next year? They would have had to pay your spring tuition already.”

“Yeah, next year then.”

“I’ll help you apply for new ones this summer. Don’t worry, I helped Davos get one and you’re a much better student,” Stannis smiled faintly.

“I’m probably going to be homeless,” Melisandre looked up at him.

“You can stay with me if you want. My mom and dad literally won’t notice.”

“My parents will never speak to me again.”

“We can go to Lorath and corner them in an alley.”

Melisandre lifted her head. Stannis was looking at her earnestly. 

“C’mon, what else you got?” He nudged her. 

“My brother will likely require medical care and we don’t have health insurance?” She offered wanly.

“I can cover it. Robert will help. Our parents don’t check our bank statements anyway. Next?”

“I don’t think there’s a next,” Melisandre admitted. Stannis gently brushed her hair out of her face.

“It doesn’t matter if there is. We’ll figure it out together. Your problems are my problems, you know?” 

She looked at his dark blue eyes, his serious features, his set jaw. She didn’t deserve him.

“I know,” she kissed him. “Thank you.”

They sat for a while.

“I think you need to forgive Davos,” she said finally. Stannis stiffened next to her. “Which I bring up only because your problems are my problems,” she said drily.

“I’ll consider it,” he said flatly. She found the strength to roll her eyes.


	92. Beric (Losing My Religion 8 of 12)

Beric didn’t have friends growing up. He wasn’t sure why. What it was he was he was doing wrong. He hadn’t been unpopular. He was always able to tag along with the Stormlands group or the athletes or the smart kids, but he was a perpetual after thought. Nobody disliked him, exactly, but he was universally considered to be rather dull.

Maybe he overcompensated, falling over himself to please. He was just so used to trying so hard and it never being quite good enough—he tried to be a good person and a good son and a good teammate and a good boyfriend. And he was always falling short.

And then that damned motorcycle accident and he had spent two months lying on his back, staring at a hospital ceiling. Wondering if anyone besides his parents would notice or particularly care if the paramedics had just let him die. Well his parents would care, and if only for their sake, he had forced himself through physical therapy, even if their expectations were oppressive and stifling and sometimes he woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat because he wasn’t the person his parents thought he was, he was an imposter, and how could he let them down this way?

But then he had gone to that shitty party and met Thoros and it was the best thing that ever happened to him. That Thoros even liked him as a friend had been mind-boggling. He knew he’d been ridiculous, following him around like a puppy. He just couldn’t understand what somebody who’d been everywhere and done everything, who was funny and cool and completely disinterested in all the petty high school shit that had given Beric so much trouble even saw in him. 

So yeah then maybe he’d developed a completely hopeless crush on his new best friend and everything that had happened since had seemed like an absurdly surreal daydream that he might wake up from at any second. And now he had. Only he hadn’t woken up from it so much as completely shattered it, because of some stupid convenient white lie that he’d half-assed one day because he didn’t want Thoros to worry about Beric’s parents sending him away.

And then when Thoros had completely rightfully freaked out... what? What exactly had he done to reassure his boyfriend that he wasn’t embarrassed of their relationship? Nothing. He had pictured telling his parents right then and there and he’d frozen up. College had always seemed like such a safe time to do it. Oh hey, I’m gay, this is my boyfriend, see you when you’ve had four years to think it over! And yeah telling his parents made him feel like there was a bubble of air caught in his chest, squeezing his lungs until he couldn’t breathe. But if it was affecting Thoros like it was—and how had he not noticed that, what kind of boyfriend was he, what the fuck was wrong with him—then they would tell his parents and they would get through it and it would be okay. Only nope, he froze up and didn’t say anything at the worst possible moment, the one moment when he should have said ANYTHING, and then when he did unfreeze, it was to call Thoros a drunk. Great going.

He’d called Thoros about a billion times, but it kept going to voicemail. And after a while, Beric was just calling to hear his voicemail, because it might be the last time he would get to hear Thoros’ voice before Thoros dumped him.

Beric had told his parents that Allyria was not his girlfriend, but he’d stopped shy of the rest. Because it was really fucking scary, and he’d always pictured doing this with Thoros next to him, not wondering if Thoros even still wanted him around. He hadn’t slept, had thrown up his dinner around three in the morning, and had driven to school mentally rehearsing his speech.

‘I’m so so sorry, we can tell them right now, I’ll call my father at work, I don’t care, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, what we have is the most important thing in my life. I don’t know how to do this without you, I love you, please tell me how to make it better and I will.’

Thoros hadn’t showed. Beric had waited by his locker. And then outside of first period. And then second. And when he still hadn’t shown up at lunch, Beric was sure something was wrong.

Thoros always kept his word. Even if they were just going to talk for Thoros to tell him he was a selfish jerk and to stay the hell away, they would talk. Thoros wasn’t scared of confrontation, after all. That was much more of a Beric thing.

Beric might have called another dozen or so times that afternoon. Then he started calling the hospitals. Because what if he’d gotten hit by a car walking home? What if he’d been mugged? What if he’d picked a fight or had an aneurysm or a stroke or amnesia? 

When he still hadn’t turned up at school the day after, Beric cut class for the first time in his life. He went to the batting cages, every bar he could remember Thoros ever mentioning, the beach where they met, the movie theater, the airport to see if they had a booking under Asshai. He called Thoros’ friend Tormund in Hardhome, then Robert, then Anguy, then Jorah. He was so tired, he hadn’t slept in two days, but Thoros was out there, somewhere, in trouble, and he made himself keep walking. He would walk to the ends of the earth if that’s where Thoros was, but it was a Tuesday and on Tuesdays Thoros had his shift at Hollow Hill so Beric walked there instead. Obviously that was the first place he’d looked, but this time Sandor Clegane was on duty and had seen him Sunday night. And then Melisandre had shown up, and then they had gone to the Asshais’ apartment complex, and then, and then, and then.

He’d told that priest guy that Thoros was his boyfriend. It occurred to him that it might be the first and last time he ever got to say those words to a stranger, and that thought had nearly undone him. But it had worked, it had gotten the sympathy he needed to get Thoros’ location and Thoros was going to be okay, he had to be, and that was what mattered.

Beric and Melisandre were driving to the soup kitchen mostly in silence. Beric felt slightly queasy, as he more or less had since he had gotten to school Monday morning and Thoros wasn’t there. Or was it when he had called his boyfriend a drunk and Thoros had walked out? Or was it when his whole stupid nonsensical plan to keep everyone happy had blown up in his face and hurt the person he loved in the worst possible way? He knew his brain was going in circles, he couldn’t help it, he just couldn’t think of anything else.

He thought of all the times Thoros had helped him get home. The time Thoros had faced down a Golden Company thug with a gun to keep him safe. The time that Thoros had literally brought him back from the dead.

And he hadn’t been there when Thoros needed him. Thoros had been alone and drunk and distracted and it was his fault.

He thought about Thoros soaking wet and sitting on a beach at night. Concussed and sleepy in his front seat. Kissing him the night of his birthday, laughing at the club in Myr, wearing his blanket and drinking wine in his bed.

“Here,” Melisandre said, and Beric was glad she had spoken loudly because his thoughts were deafening.

Moqorro was ladling vegetables onto trays, grinning and talking easily to the people in line. When he saw them, he nodded, and then grabbed somebody’s shoulder and they swapped places.

He hugged Melisandre, a large boisterous hug that lifted her off her feet.

“I haven’t seen you in ages! Don’t tell me you just popped in to say hello,” he boomed, and Beric saw him press a piece of white paper onto her hand. “Did you meet those two friends I was telling you about? The ones with the rifle and several guard dogs?” Melisandre nodded.

“Soon enough I’m sure. Just saying hello. And goodbye, I’m afraid,” Melisandre tilted her head.

Moqorro set her down gently.

“Not forever I don’t think. I see you in the flames, little sister. I will pray for your safe journey.”

“I will pray for your safety as well,” Melisandre looked composed. “But your friends should look to their sins,” she added darkly.

“Hey,” Beric said as they were driving to the police station. “I could go in there instead. I don’t think you technically have to be involved if you don’t want to be. I know Thoros said... he said that leaving your religion is really hard.”

His heart lurched as Beric remembered that conversation, telling Thoros he wouldn’t let anybody take him. I’m sorry, he thought miserably. I’m trying to fix it, please let me fix it.

“I have to do it,” Melisandre replied flatly, and Beric felt startled because he had fallen down his rabbit hole of self-loathing again and forgotten he had even asked her anything. “It’s my fault.”

“What?” He asked confused.

“The girl who reported him... Kinvara Volant, I dated her last summer. She dumped me and spread all these rumors, so when we rigged the election... I made sure she didn’t win and I told her I did it.”

Beric wondered if that should make him feel better. It didn’t. If he hadn’t been an asshole, Thoros wouldn’t have been by himself. His entire life, he’d been contorting himself into smaller and smaller boxes to please people. Being this person for his parents and that person for Jon and another person for the football team. Thoros was the first person who had ever looked him and just liked the person he was. And he’d made him feel like the person Thoros was wasn’t good enough. Beric rubbed his arms. They were going to get Thoros back, and he was going to fix everything and he was going to look him in the eye and tell him that even if Thoros never wanted to see him again, Beric had never not adored him exactly for who he was, that he was the kindest, bravest, funniest person that Beric knew and that was all that mattered. And he didn’t care who else knew.

“That doesn’t make it your fault,” Beric said firmly. “And I can still do it,” he offered, glancing out the window because he didn’t want to offend Melisandre and somehow half of what he did or said on any given day seemed to.

“No, this is how it’s supposed to happen,” Melisandre muttered and she sounded so sad that he did look over.

“Do you want me to go with you?” He asked and after a pause, she nodded.

They had asked for Jeor Mormont, and then they had to wait for an hour, but when it became clear that they weren’t going anywhere, his secretary had yielded.

Mormont had listened to Melisandre and asked questions and sat with his cold blue eyes fixed on her. He told her she hadn’t been the first to report this, just the first to come armed with an address. He told her she was very brave.

“Just very angry,” she said coldly. “I want my brother back.”

Mormont had told her it would take time, that they would get the team in place by that evening. She didn’t have to wait here, she could go home—

“I’m waiting here,” she said and smoothed the skirt of her dress.

“And your boyfriend?” Jeor asked.

Beric and Melisandre shared a bemused glance.

“I’m her brother’s boyfriend, actually,” Beric said, the second time today, and it came even more easily than before. “And I’m waiting here too.”

They weren’t allowed to go of course. Instead they sat quietly and did their homework and read Varys’ blog and Beric got them some dinner from the vending machine. At first they didn’t really talk to each other and then it was quietly and very to the point, but at a certain part they started getting loopier. Beric didn’t think Melisandre had gotten any more sleep than he had.

“I can’t believe Lynesse Hightower is dating Jorah Mormont,” Melisandre said, sounding punch drunk, as she crunched down on a Dorito chip. “He’s skinnier than you!”

“I do not look like Jorah Mormont,” Beric huffed. 

“No, you’re much taller,” Melisandre gave him. “And not quite as annoying.”

“...thank you,” Beric said, trying to scowl, even though it was probably the nicest thing she had ever said to him.

“Miss?” The secretary came out and got them. “They’ve found him. He’s alive.” A tight bubble of air that Beric didn’t know had been in his chest escaped. “There were some others. They’re taking them all to the hospital, he’s not conscious but his condition is stable and they’ll let you see him.”

“Family only,” the nurse snapped when Beric tried to follow Melisandre past the yellow line.

“He is family,” Melisandre informed her in a haughty and superior tone that brooked no argument, and Beric felt pathetically grateful because he just needed to know that Thoros was okay.

And then they were guided up by a brisk orderly and a door opened and there he was, asleep.

He looked... sick? Skin too pale, his unkempt red hair matted with sweat and plastered to his forehead. An IV drip in his arm, and a monitor that beeped out his heart rate with cold efficiency. His chest was covered with bandages, from just below his collar bone down to his navel.

Beric let Melisandre go first, mindful that he was lucky even to be here, for all that he might cry. Melisandre only smoothed his hair and squeezed his wrist so tight that her knuckles went white. Then the doctor cleared her throat and Melisandre went with her, leaving Beric and Thoros alone.

Beric approached him slowly, kissed him on shyly, hopefully, on the forehead. Nothing happened. Of course not. He felt stupid for trying. It was just unfair that Thoros could drag him back from the darkness and he couldn’t do the same.

Instead he pulled up a chair; rested his head next to Thoros’ side. Didn’t touch him because he didn’t really have the right to do that anymore. Watched the slow rise and fall of his breath, listened to the droning chirp of the monitor.

Melisandre came back.

“He’s okay. That’s what they keep telling me,” she announced, with a trace of irritation. “But he—all of them—their blood screens are off the chart with some cocktail of drugs. And he’s badly dehydrated.”

“And his chest?” Beric asked dully.

“They think he might have tried to escape and got mauled by one of the guard dogs. He’s up to date on his rabies shots at least. They stitched him up. As they said, he’s okay,” Melisandre looked down.

They sat for a while with that. There wasn’t much else to say.

Then Jeor Mormont came in and respectfully asked if Melisandre would mind giving a statement.

“I’ll be here,” Beric assured her, so she nodded and swept out.

It was the spike in the heart monitor that woke him, a shrill trilling that then just as quickly subsided into the same dull chirp he had grown accustomed to.

Beric lifted his head, blinking sleepily. He moved his hand up to Thoros’ forehead to push his overgrown bangs out of his face and then Thoros grabbed his hand.

“Beric,” he gasped, and convulsed in his bed, and Beric was up next to him holding him in half a heart-beat.

“Shh, I’ve got you, you’re safe, I’ve got you,” he mumbled into his hair. Thoros turned up and looked at him, and his bright blue eyes were a thousand leagues away, frozen almost in their distance.

“Why does one of us always die?” He asked sadly.

“What?!” Beric stammered out, because Thoros said it so calmly, so resignedly, and it was so nonsensical and creepy.

“It’s like the universe doesn’t want us to be together,” Thoros continued, unruffled by Beric’s response. “I’m cold, Beric. It doesn’t hurt but I’m very very cold.”

Beric bit his lip. He was very aware that if Thoros were really here, he would be saying something different. That he probably wouldn’t even want him here. 

“Beric?” Thoros sounded so lost and confused, and even if it wasn’t really him in there, Beric felt something in him break.

Beric crawled behind him and pulled him between his legs and wrapped himself around him to warm him. He pulled the blanket up to Thoros’ chin. He didn’t feel that cold. Beric wondered if he should call a nurse, but after that one bleep, the heart monitor had settled down.

“Fuck the universe,” he whispered in Thoros’ ear, an echo of a different time in his head. “I want us together.”

Thoros’ eyes had already closed again, but Beric thought he saw the shadow of a smile on his face.

The next time Beric woke up, it was to Stannis clearing his throat. He could see them as Stannis saw them, knew that friends didn’t crawl into friends’ hospital beds and hold them like Beric was holding Thoros. He could probably disentangle himself and make a comment about Thoros seeming cold earlier. Instead he looked calmly at Stannis and tightened his grip.

“I’m picking up Melisandre from the police station shortly. She asked me to check on you, to let you know you could go home if you wanted,” Stannis said, carefully not looking at them.

“I’m good where I am,” Beric replied quietly. Stannis walked out.

Well that was it then. His secret good and blown. Beric was having trouble caring. He suddenly felt very tired of the whole thing, when all that mattered was Thoros waking up and not talking about dying and the cold. He realized that if—when—Thoros woke up, he wanted to be done with secrets. Maybe Thoros wouldn’t take him back, maybe this couldn’t be fixed. And coming out to his parents alone and then not having Thoros to come back to... that would really suck. Beric wasn’t really sure how he would get through it. But he wanted to look Thoros in the eye and say whether you take me back or not, I have never not been proud of you and our relationship. You mean the world to me. 

Later Melisandre came back and carefully pushed some chairs together and stretched out on them. She’d procured a blanket from somewhere, and that went over her, stretching from her feet all the way up to just under her eyes.

“They rescued four people,” she said. “The families have been contacted and most of them are furious. They might not even need to use my testimony. Apparently there can be difficulties in putting minors on the stand.”

“That’s good, I guess,” Beric answered uncertainly.

“If we want to stay out of the press it is,” Melisandre agreed. Beric winced. He knew how proud Melisandre was, how much she would hate being portrayed as a victim. Thoros would hate that too. No press was definitely a good thing.

“You don’t have to wait here, I’ll call you as soon as he wakes up,” Beric offered. He wasn’t leaving either way. He’d woken up in the hospital alone after his crash. Thoros never would as long as Beric could help it.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Melisandre answered bleakly, voice muffled under the blanket. Then she turned to face the wall and that was the end of the conversation.

Eventually he heard her breathing settle and he knew she was asleep. He looked down at the boy in his arms. Come back to me, come back to me. He rested his chin on his head. I love you, come back to me. 


	93. Cersei (Losing My Religion 9 of 12)

“Jaime and I are doing red for the corsage and boutonniere, so I think you and Catelyn should do yellow. Yellow will look nice with your black hair, and more importantly it will look nice with my red corsage,” Cersei tilted her face up to Robert, from where her head lay on his chest.

As usual, he wasn’t listening and was instead texting someone on his phone. She swiped the phone and looked at the thread. It was labeled ‘Stannis’, but that wasn’t necessarily dispositive. She opened it. It was a detailed explanation of what stocks were going to be sold to free up funds in their personal checking accounts. It was probably Stannis. She gave the phone back.

“Brienne and Jorah are doing blue, which of course is a huge mistake. It’ll look nice enough on both of them for the first dance, but a red boutonniere and a blue corsage?!” Cersei shuddered dramatically. “Nobody thinks these things through.”

She had pointed this out to Jaime, but he hadn’t been speaking to her since their birthday dinner. Honestly, he was being such a child. What did she care if Jaime and Brienne had had sex? The only reason she had said it was because she knew it would goad a reaction, and the fact that Jaime was embarrassed about his sex life was clearly a him problem and not a her problem. She had absolutely nothing to be sorry for.

“I think Edmure and Lynesse are doing pink, but who cares about them really. Did you know Lynesse is dating Jorah? I think she’s going to regret it, the Mormonts don’t have nearly as much money as they used to,” Cersei sniffed, resolutely squashing those thoughts. Robert was still frowning at his phone, probably trying to make heads or tails out of the financial screenshots Stannis was sending him.

Even if it had been unkind, so what? Jaime didn’t deserve kind. Kind was for good lackeys who did what they were told and didn’t run ditch her to drool over strange looking freshman. Even if she privately thought that it was good for Jaime to make a decision that hadn’t been pre-approved by their father. And that Brienne was way better than those bimbos Pia and Melara that Jaime had previously dated. And okay maybe it was weird that she expected her brother to constantly be at her beck and call. And he had already apologized. So maybe it was immature to keep punishing him with low key hostility. Fuck. Did that mean she was wrong? Ugh did she just doubt herself?! Gross! Clearly some self-affirmation was in order.

Cersei lifted her head. Robert had begun looking at his stock portfolio upside down.

“Can I ask you something?” Cersei poked him.

“Please,” he gave her a relieved grin and put his phone down. Clearly he thought asking him something was code for sex. Then again, Robert thought most things were code for sex.

“Would you be mad if you weren’t having sex with your girlfriend and I brought it up?”

“We weren’t having sex for the first three months we dated and you brought it up constantly,” Robert reminded her.

“Okay, bad example. Would Stannis be mad if he wasn’t having sex with Melisandre and you brought it up?”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Robert started kissing her neck. Cersei bit her lip. 

“But he’d be overreacting, right?” She pushed his hand off her thigh.

“Like if it was just me and him? Of course,” Robert instead moved it up the back of her shirt and popped her bra clasp. She glared at him.

“What if it wasn’t?”

“Like in front of one of his friends? Or Renly? I guess that’s fair game,” Robert frowned, simultaneously pulling her bra out of her shirt through some sort of bizarre slight of hand. How did he get it off without taking her shirt off? 

“What if it was in front of Melisandre?” She asked absently, looking at the bra. Seriously, how did he do that?

“Wait, you asked Jaime why he wasn’t having sex with Brienne IN FRONT OF BRIENNE?!” Robert stared at her.

“Wait what?! It was a hypothetical!” Cersei protested. Where was her self-affirmation damnit?

“None of your hypotheticals are ever really hypotheticals,” Robert huffed. “Like when you said, hypothetically did I think Lynesse Hightower was hot, and then you didn’t speak to me for three days.”

Was he winning this argument? Clearly drastic measures were in order. Cersei took off her shirt.

“I’m speaking to you now,” she purred.

“You should apologize,” Robert frowned at her, even though she was literally half-naked. She decided to raise the stakes.

“Don’t tell me you care if I hurt Jaime’s feelings,” Cersei crawled into his lap.

“Of course not,” Robert scoffed. Cersei rewarded him with a kiss.

“I care if you hurt Brienne’s feelings,” Robert continued. Cersei’s eyes narrowed.

“Hypothetically...”

“No I don’t hypothetically think Brienne’s hot. I wouldn’t fuck her in the dark. She’s just nice. And if you insist on hanging out with Jaime, I would rather she be there,” Robert said sulkily.

Was this a conspiracy?! 

“Well I didn’t hurt her feelings. You were there. I just asked them if they wanted to split a hotel suite,” Cersei huffed. Stupid no good boyfriends who can’t even shut up and do the one thing they’re even there for.

“But you knew they hadn’t had sex,” Robert pointed out.

Enough. Cersei got off the bed.

“Hey, where are you going?” Robert looked alarmed.

“Apparently I’m supposed to apologize to my brother,” she said snidely.

“I mean not now,” Robert whined. Oh now he wanted sex? Where was this can do attitude five minutes ago when she didn’t feel all flustered and guilty?!

“Give me back my bra,” Cersei folded her arms.

“No,” Robert immediately sat on it. “We both know you’ve never apologized to anybody in your life, so that’s not what you’re doing. And whatever it is you’re doing, we should definitely have sex first.”

“What I’m doing is teaching you a lesson!”

“About not answering hypotheticals?”

“No! About never disagreeing with me ever!”

Robert made a face and handed her the bra. He had a point though. There was no way she was going to apologize, even if she really should apologize. She just had to do something nice for them. Be their very own fairy godmother. After all, she was about to win Prom Queen. The crown was included.

First she called her glam squad. Yes, she knew she had told them to come over exactly sixty minutes before the limo arrived so her makeup and her hair would be at their freshest for photos. But now she was telling them to come over exactly one hundred twenty minutes before the limo arrived, and did they have any idea what she was paying them?

Then she sought out Brienne and Jaime at lunch. It was too awful for words how they had been banished to this terrible table in the corner. Sandor Clegane’s eyes rounded when he saw her coming.

“NO! ABSOLUTELY NOT! WE ARE AT CAPACITY!” He yelled. Cersei glanced around. It was literally just him, Jaime and Brienne at the table.

“As if I wanted to ruin my appetite watching you eat,” she sniffed. Actually, that might have merit as a diet strategy. “Brienne, I was hoping we could get ready together before prom tomorrow night.”

“No thanks,” Jaime said. Typical. Couldn’t even recognize when she was doing something good.

“Please Brienne,” Cersei smiled winsomely. “We haven’t caught up in ages, and I was thinking we could have some girl time.”

Brienne looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Excellent. Those were the deer that were easiest to hit.

“We’ll do our hair and our makeup and we’ll look amazing,” Cersei laid it on.

“I’d love to,” Brienne squirmed. “It’s just, I kind of told Catelyn I would get ready with her.”

Cersei’s eye twitched. She reminded herself to apply a cucumber compress later. A facial mask a day keeps the wrinkles away!

“Catelyn can come too. I love Catelyn.”

“Oh, well…” Brienne shifted in her seat. “I guess that’s all right then.”

“Great, I’ll see you both one hundred and eighty minutes before the limo picks us up,” Cersei said.

(Her glam squad was aware of how much she paid them, but three hours was going to be extra. It was fine, she would put it on her father’s credit card and tell him how important civic engagement was to a college resumé.)

“Hi Catelyn,” Cersei sat back down at Center Table. Catelyn looked over from where she had been whispering sweet nothings in Ned Stark’s ear.

“Hi Cersei,” Catelyn said cautiously.

“I was thinking you and Brienne should come get ready at my house,” Cersei cut to the quick. “I’ll have a whole team to get us photo-ready.”

“That’s so kind of you,” Catelyn replied blinking. It was, wasn’t it? “Only…” Oh no. “I feel bad if all three of us get ready together—you don’t think Lynesse will feel left out?”

Seven hells.

“You’re so right,” Cersei answered sweetly. “I’ll ask her right away.”

Once Brienne AND Catelyn AND Lynesse AND the glam squad had all agreed to come four hours early, Cersei sat down again. Why was doing good so much more tiring than doing evil? Next she called the up-scale department store where Brienne had bought her last three dresses. Fortunately, she had all the carriers of Lysene handbags on speed dial.

“Hi, Jessy? It’s Cersei, how are you? No I know the new spring line hasn’t come in yet. A girl at my school, Brienne Tarth, just showed me the most adorable dress—did she get it from your store? Would you mind checking? Anything under Renly Baratheon? Oh I see—from the sale rack?! Ugh this is more dire than I thought. What size please? I know you don’t normally give that information, that’s why I, Cersei Lannister, am asking as a favor—in a long? Thank you.”

Next she called a few boutiques and made some discrete inquiries. Of course everyone wanted to cater to the Freshman Queen, Cersei’s personal friend. Yes, the Stormland Tarths. No, that size wasn’t unusual, it was bespoke.

“Hey, Cersei!” Edmure Tully broke in. Cersei put her phone on mute and raised an eyebrow.

“I was thinking since all the girls are getting ready at your place, and Jaime’s already there too, we might as well have the limo pick up everybody there! Robert thought that was a great idea!”

“He did, did he?” Cersei shot a look at Robert, who gave her a vacuous smile back.

“Yep,” Edmure answered blithely. 

And that is how the Lannisters came to host a prom pre-party.

Fortunately, that was one of the things Robert was good at. Being friendly, hosting parties and playing football. Also drinking and having sex, but those were of more dubious value. She doubted he had given much thought to what he would do after his professional football career (which based on a survey of rookie quarterbacks over the last twenty years, she estimated would be middling and three to five years at best). Personally, she thought politics would be a nice fit for him. As long as he had someone much smarter than him standing behind him telling him what to say.

“He acts like it’s his house,” Jaime grumbled, peeking down at the crowd through the bannister.

“Stop moping,” Cersei said. “If you wouldn’t insist on sitting outside Brienne’s dressing room, you could be hosting.”

“Stop moping?! Why should I mope?! My sister mortified my girlfriend in front of my family, kidnapped her, and has filled my house with strangers, thus ensuring we won’t have a second of alone time together!”

Cersei produced a hotel key card and handed it to him.

“Your alone time comes after the party.”

Then, even as his jaw was working to come up with something new to complain about, Brienne emerged. Cersei had to give herself proper credit. Brienne looked so… presentable. The makeup artist had done a great job giving her cheekbones, and her eyes looked positively stunning. The blue of the dress (spring lines were always available when you were Cersei Lannister) set off her complexion nicely, and it featured a thigh high slit that showed off her quite adequate legs. There was no doubt about it. This was someone that Cersei could introduce as ‘my brother’s girlfriend’ without even a single eye roll.

“Brienne,” Jaime had gotten to his feet and produced the blue flower that Jorah was supposed to be fastening on her. “May I?” Brienne blushed.

Okay, maybe just one eye roll.

Cersei flounced past them to claim her seat in the staging room.

Her dress was ethereal and divine and completely custom made of course. She had given them a photo of the prom crown to work with as their inspiration. She wanted something goddess meets queen, but still approachable. Her hair stylist set to worth with the curling iron until her gold hair fairly glowed, and by the end of her hour she looked, in her humble opinion, breathtaking.

“You clean up good,” Robert grinned when she came down. He really did look handsome in a tux. She fixed the boutonniere that Catelyn had pinned on all wrong, and smiled when he produced the flower that he had obviously swiped from Jaime.

“How’d you get that?” She quirked an eyebrow.

“I suggested to Edmure that Catelyn might prefer to have her brother handle the pinning, so he gave me Lynesse’s. Then I traded Lynesse for Brienne with Jorah, and then I traded Brienne for you with Jaime,” Robert said proudly. Aw, he was learning!

“Well done,” she nodded in approval. He finished pinning the corsage. Then he squeezed her boob. She stomped on his foot with her stiletto heel.

“Worth it.”

Jaime cleared his throat behind them, ruining the moment. She turned with an arched eyebrow.

“You made Brienne really happy,” he said awkwardly. Cersei stared back expressionlessly.

“You look very nice,” he pressed on. “You’ll be a lovely queen.” He seemed to run out of what to say and they just stared at each other for a moment. Then he crossed the room and crushed her into a hug.

“You’re mussing my hair,” Cersei sniffed after a moment.

“I’m not voting for you,” Jaime retorted.

“I’ll win anyway,” she informed him.

Jaime let go and smirked.

“I know. You always do.”

Then the limo came and all eight of them piled in. Jaime insisted on sitting on Brienne’s lap, for some unfathomable reason. Robert popped some champagne. Lynesse and Jorah were cuddling, Catelyn was showing Edmure some text from Ned, and it occurred to Cersei that she was just… happy. 

It was an odd thought. Of course she was happy. Literally everybody in this limo had been hand-picked by her in a beautifully brilliant scheme. She was about to be elected Prom Queen, with a Prom King on her arm, her brother was speaking to her again, she looked completely radiant. But while all of those things struck a certain chord of self-satisfaction in her heart, this was more tranquil. When was the last time she had just been happy?

Robert put his arm around her absently, and when she looked over at Jaime and Brienne, Jaime smiled. Robert was graduating. He would be off in the Vale soon, which meant this moment would never repeat itself. Who knew if they would even date long distance. The thought that this moment was so temporary was a little bittersweet, but if anything it just made the happiness she felt more poignant. She would remember this moment she thought, and she was right. 

Years from now, she would remember not the thrill of victory when old Aemon announced that she had won and carefully placed the crown on her burnished gold hair, not the triumphant first dance with Robert, flushed with wine and feeling the jealous eyes of the entire school on her. Just this moment, in the car, when they were all together and excited and happy.


	94. Thoros (Losing My Religion 10 of 12)

Thoros woke up in a hospital bed, about a day and a half after he had been rescued and about five days after he had been kidnapped.

He didn’t know this in the moment of course. In the moment he was only conscious of having the hangover to end all hangovers. Like the perfect storm of hangovers. The rat king of hangovers. The... okay he was out of combination metaphors, probably because his head really really hurt. Also his chest hurt. And was super itchy. And when he lifted his hand to scratch it, he discovered it had been fastened to the bed frame with some kind of tie.

Beric was sleeping on the bed next to him and kind of drooling in his hair. He looked at Beric for a moment, how sweet he looked sleeping with one arm wrapped around Thoros’ like he was scared Thoros might leave.

Leave. Left. He had left. Thoros winced as certain memories came crawling back. He tried to push Beric awake, but his hands were pretty firmly stuck to the bed.

“Beric,” he tested out his voice. It was really raspy and not very loud. “Beric wake up.”

When that didn’t work either, he started kicking him. 

“Woah, it’s fine, you’re fine,” Beric was up immediately, trying to hold him down.

“I am clearly not fine,” Thoros said testily. “Now get me out of these ties and get the fuck off my bed.”

Beric flinched but hurried to accommodate him.

“You’re not allowed to scratch, that’s why they had to restrain your hands,” he explained, pushing his hair back and staring at Thoros like he wanted to hug him but was scared to touch him. Why? Oh yeah, because Thoros had threatened to kick his ass the next time he did. And stolen his dad’s scotch, and shoved him, and made fun of his scars. Because he sucked, and even knowing that he sucked, he still wanted Beric to leave.

Thoros forced himself to sit up and wait for the room to stop spinning. Then he inspected the neat bandages on his chest suspiciously.

“I’m using the can,” he announced, and swung himself off the bed only to collapse in a heap.

“Careful! You’ll pull out the IV drip,” Beric ran around the bed and helped him up. 

“Okay, it’s still in, see? Now get off,” Thoros pushed him away. He took another step and staggered, grabbing the stand to keep his balance.

“Can I please help?” Beric asked nervously, hovering in that slightly dithery way he had.

Thoros considered. He did not think he was going to make it to the bathroom without assistance.

“Fine. But no talking,” he said grudgingly. Because when he had stormed off to avoid seeing Beric feel sorry for him, it hadn’t been with the master plan of making Beric feel MORE sorry for him. He was an adult and was responsible for his own shitty decisions.

And Beric did help without talking, even during the slightly awkward dance of getting the hospital gown enough out of the way for him to successfully take a leak.

“Okay, you can go now,” he said ungraciously when Beric had gotten him back into bed.  

“Not until Melisandre gets here,” Beric said stoically, and endured an especially withering glare.

Fortunately Melisandre showed up suspiciously quickly for somebody who should be in school.

“Hey,” she said. Beric got up and walked to the door, turning back like he might say something.

“Hey,” Thoros said back to Melisandre, very obviously ignoring Beric. Beric looked down and left. Melisandre meanwhile gave a very phlegmy sniffle and scrubbed at her eyes with her sleeve.

“It’s so dry in here and there’s dust everywhere,” she complained.

“You’re such a baby,” he teased. “So what’s the damage?”

“You tell me,” she tilted her head. “You don’t seem like a zombie. What would you say if R’hllor told you to jump off a cliff?”

“I’d tell him to fuck himself and then seek medication for the voices in my head,” Thoros rolled his eyes.

“It figures you don’t have enough brain to be brainwashed,” Melisandre tossed her hair. “Do you remember anything?”

Thoros shifted uneasily. Beric kissing a dead woman. A flaming sword. A blue eyed bear running at him across a field of ice. Freezing to death on an island. 

“Not really,” he said. “Some creep let himself into our apartment. I got driven head first through my mirror.” He touched his head to check the damage. It felt like a couple stitches. Less than ten.

“Technically it’s not our apartment anymore,” Melisandre said glumly. “We’re supposed to move our stuff out tomorrow.”

“Shit,” Thoros blinked. He looked down at his chest. “I don’t know how much help I’m going to be at moving.”

“You aren’t being released until Sunday,” Melisandre poked him. “Don’t even think about it.”

“Hospitals are always too conservative, they’re scared of getting sued,” Thoros shrugged. “We shouldn’t waste my stash on hospital bills. We can get a room in a motel while we look for a place to rent.”

“Stannis and Robert are paying for the hospital bills. You didn’t really think I would spring for a private room,” Melisandre gave him a small smile. “Have you talked to Beric?”

Thoros scrunched his face.

“You should talk to him,” Melisandre pressed. “I’m not sure I would have found you without him.”

“I’m not sure at this exact moment I have the emotional bandwidth to have a conversation on why people can’t know we’re dating,” Thoros snarked back, firmly suppressing a twinge of pain at saying the words out loud. Or why he was an asshole who couldn’t have an adult conversation without freaking out.

“It might go differently than you think,” Melisandre arched an eyebrow.

“So how are we paying back the Baratheons?” Thoros changed the subject, trying to shake off the lethargy of his headache. “I hope they take I.O.U.s.”

“You can try. I doubt they want to be paid back at all,” Melisandre shrugged. “Do you want to leave a voicemail for Mom and Dad letting them know you’re alive?”

“They’re still talking to us?” Thoros asked, surprised.

“Nope,” Melisandre said. Her voice was neutral, but Thoros suspected she was more upset than she let on. He, after all, had been more or less resigned to this eventuality. Melisandre had not been.

“Then fuck them. Mel, I’m sorry,” he squeezed her hand.

“For what?”

“For pulling you into all of this. I never meant to make you leave the temple, to dump all of this on you—“

“It’s not your fault,” she cut him off stiffly. “Actually, I should be apologizing to you. Because it very much is my fault.”

“What?” Thoros asked.

“It was Kinvara who reported you. No idea what she told them, but I’m pretty sure it was entirely fictional. And you know Benerro. He...” Mel shifted uncomfortably.

“Hates my guts?”

“Yeah,” she sighed and swallowed. “I’m really sorry. Like super super sorry,” she looked at him and her eyes had gone all bright and watery again.

“Don’t be sad,” he tugged on her hair. “It wouldn’t have worked if I wasn’t the worst R’hllorite of all time. And like, this was basically my endgame. It wasn’t yours. And that sucks.”

“It honestly doesn’t suck as much as I thought it would,” Melisandre admitted. “Stannis has been great about it. He wanted to help me move tonight, but I told him to go enjoy prom, that we could do it all tomorrow. It’s not like we have that much in worldly possessions.”

“Wait, prom?! It’s Friday?! Mel, you’re not missing prom!” Thoros blurted.

“I’m not going to prom while you’re in the hospital!”

“Um yes you are. Let me just point out that you went to prom last year and I did not. How is this year any different? Aside from the fact that you have to go and rub it in Kinvara’s face that she hasn’t managed to ruin your life,” Thoros folded his arms. 

“Because last year you were watching television, not sitting alone in a hospital bed!” Melisandre crossed her arms right back.

“There’s a television right there,” Thoros pointed. “Give me the remote and get out of here. What time is it?” He looked at the clock. Six. “You totally have time to get ready and surprise Stannis. C’mon, it’ll make me feel a lot better about ruining your life.”

“I thought we established that it was a joint effort,” Melisandre sniped, but she was looking sorely tempted.

“You can figure out something nice to do for me later,” Thoros shooed her. “Go! Spit in Kinvara’s drink for me!”

Melisandre abruptly hugged him.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too, but don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my rep,” Thoros grinned.

“You have no rep,” Melisandre informed him, and then threw the remote at his head.

He snuggled into his hospital bed and found a good Valyrian soap opera. He enjoyed thinking of his sister going to the school dance with her boyfriend, having a happy carefree experience after what she had been through. She deserved it, really she did.

It was about seven and he was just thinking that she was probably walking through the school doors when the door to his own room creaked open a foot.

“Hey,” Beric said uncomfortably. He was wearing his usual khakis and button down and was emphatically not dressed for prom. “Can I come in?” He looked sad. Thoros hated when he looked sad, but at least he didn’t look like he was feeling sorry for Thoros.

“I see my plan to get kidnapped by a cult to avoid having this conversation failed,” Thoros tried to joke.

Beric apparently didn’t know whether to take that as a yes or a no.

“You can come in,” Thoros waved a hand tiredly. “Shouldn’t you be at prom?”

“I should be with you,” Beric replied earnestly. “You’re my boyfriend.” 

“So where do your parents think you are?” Thoros asked before he could stop himself, even though he knew it was unkind.

“With my boyfriend.”

Thoros blinked.

Beric took a deep breath.

“I’m really sorry I hurt your feelings with that stupid fake girlfriend idea. There’s not much I can say in my defense, except that I genuinely didn’t know how much me being in the closet bothered you. But it definitely wasn’t because I thought Allyria was better than you. Nobody’s better than you. You’re the best thing that's ever happened to me,” Beric looked at him, as if he were struggling to express some idea that was larger than words. 

“When I think about my life before you... well it wasn’t much of a life. Like a movie without no sound and no color, and I never knew that I should want any different until you came along. I’m sorry I’m explaining this badly, but I thought you knew! You’re my sound and my color and my everything, and I don’t care if that sounds stupid. Thoros, I love you so so much, exactly as you are.” Beric took a deep breath. “I just wanted to get my parents off my back and this seemed easy, but if I had ever thought for a second that it would hurt you, I would have never done it,” Beric bit his lip. 

Thoros felt his heart melting, wanted to tell Beric that to shut up, that it was fine, that they were fine, but Beric wasn’t done.

“I spent so much time trying to live up to my parents’ expectations, and then when you disappeared and I couldn’t find you, and you were all that I could fucking think about, well it put a lot of things in perspective. I’m really really done caring what they think about us, what they think about me. I want you to know that me not coming out was never about you, it was about me and just a lot of shit that I’ll probably spend years in therapy trying to work through,” Beric gave a weak smile. “I know you think I’m perfect and all, but I should have seen that it was fucking with your head and I’m a total asshole for not noticing. And you can forgive me or not, but I wanted you to know that I’m done with that.” 

“How did your parents take it?” Thoros asked slowly, partly because he cared and partly to buy time because wow, this was a lot. Beric had basically bared his heart to him and responding with anything less seemed insufficient.

Beric shrugged.

“I told them that I had never really dated Allyria, that I just said that to let me stay in King’s Landing. And my mom said that was silly, if I cared that much I could stay in King’s Landing, they just wanted me to be happy. So I said I found somebody who makes me happier than I’ve ever been in my life and it’s my friend Thoros. And uh... my dad walked out.” Thoros winced, and he wanted to comfort Beric, but Beric seemed oddly calm. “And then my mom hugged me and said he just needed some space and he would be fine and that they both think you’re great, and that she loves me more than anything and nothing would ever change that. Um and then she cried. I don’t think she was upset exactly, it was kind of just a surprise thing.”

“That’s good,” Thoros said hesitantly, still struggling to process. Beric didn’t just love him exactly like he was, which he had kind of already known because Beric was good and sweet and it would have never occurred to him to try and change somebody. But Beric had told his parents he was gay. Beric had told his parents about them. And like it hadn’t gone terribly but it didn’t seem like it had gone great, and Beric had done it all for him.

“So um do you forgive me?” Beric scratched his head awkwardly. “You don’t have to, I just wanted you to know I told them anyway. I was never embarrassed about you. I understand if you still want to break up with me.”

“Wait, break up with you?” Thoros raised an eyebrow. “When were we breaking up?”

“But... but we had a huge fight,” Beric stammered. “You weren’t talking to me.”

“I wasn’t not talking to you, I was literally strapped to a cot out of my mind on drugs,” Thoros pointed out. “Like yeah I was really pissed off at you, but I was going to get over it. And then we were going to have a conversation about how we move forward.”

“Oh,” Beric said, looking so confused and lost that Thoros felt a smile twitch across his face. The last little bubble of fuck-you-for-hurting-me abruptly popping.

“You’re my boyfriend. Boyfriends fight,” he teased, echoing Beric’s words from long ago.

“But I was awful to you, and you deserve so much better than that and—“

“Yes, I forgive you,” Thoros cut him off because he was starting to sense that otherwise they could be here a while. And while he was at it... “I’m sorry I drank all your dad’s scotch and was a giant jerk to you.”

Beric gave him a flicker of a smile.

“And um,” Thoros looked down, so he wouldn’t have to look at Beric’s expression which would probably be far too understanding. “I didn’t mean those things I said. I’ve never cared about your eyepatch or your scars or any of it. You’re just the first person I’ve really fallen for. And like you said, that whole Allyria thing did hurt me. And I was angry at myself for letting my guard down and angry at you for being able to affect me like that, and I just reacted... badly.” 

“I knew you didn’t mean those things,” Beric squeezed his hand, and Thoros lifted his head to hold Beric’s gaze.

He tentatively reached over and pushed away Beric’s eyepatch, and Beric tilted his head, looking at him with one perfect blue eye and one scarred and ruined socket. “Well for the record,” Thoros said softly, brushing the bad side with his thumb. “I will always think you’re perfect.” 

Beric let out a breath he’d clearly been holding, pushed Thoros’ floppy locks out of his face and kissed him firmly. Thoros felt a crash of relief that things were okay again. Better than okay. Great even. Well, except for the homeless part. That still sucked.

“Don’t do that again,” Beric said when he finally broke off the kiss, resting his forehead against Thoros’. Thoros blinked, wishing they had kept going.

“Explode on you?”

“No, get kidnapped by a cult.”

“I’ll try,” Thoros gave him a wry grin. “I’m pretty sure that was a one time sort of deal.”

“Also, I’m glad you forgave me, since I might have told your priest and the police and Stannis that we were together. And lying to them is probably bad,” Beric said sheepishly.

“It’s like the trifecta of people you shouldn’t lie to,” Thoros agreed.

“But I did bring you champagne,” Beric gave him a crooked smile. “Seeing as it’s prom.”

“You snuck alcohol into a hospital?! Beric!” Thoros pretended to disapprove.

“You said you liked rebels,” Beric mock defended himself. 

“That must be why I forgave you,” Thoros leaned back nonchalantly as Beric produced the bottle from his bag.

Beric laughed as he popped it and there was a brief spurt of white foam.

Thoros eyed the bottle and then Beric with a suggestive look.

Beric blushed and shook his head. 

“What is the point of fighting if you don’t want to have make up sex after,” Thoros sulked, mostly in jest.

“We were like just broken up, it feels really fast—“

“We were never broken up!” Thoros protested.

“—and you were unconscious like two hours ago,” Beric produced a solo cup for him, eyes narrowing in concentration as he poured it. “I’ve spent like the last five days freaking out that you were dead and it was all my fault—“

“Yeah but I wasn’t there for that part,” Thoros waved a hand. “I just woke up from a five day nap to discover you came out of the closet and I want to celebrate.”

Beric offered him the cup in response. Thoros took the bottle from Beric’s other hand instead and casually swigged some. Beric shook his head affectionately.

“Scooch over, you’re totally hogging the bed,” he gently pushed Thoros and then snuggled in next to him. “You said some pretty weird stuff while you were coming down from whatever they had you on,” he said a little too casually. “Do you remember anything?”

“About what I said? No,” Thoros eyed him. “Something else I should be apologizing for?”

“No,” Beric said, tracing the silhouette of Thoros’ face with a finger, running down his forehead and over the bumpy bridge of his nose. When he brushed his lips, Thoros pretended to bite at him.

“You’re not going blind are you?” He asked lazily when Beric flicked his nose in retaliation.

“Just glad you’re really here. What would I do without my priest?”

“I hate to tell you, but I don’t think I qualify as a priest anymore. Like not even a little bit,” Thoros raised an eyebrow.

“It’s a lifetime appointment,” Beric smirked and kissed him.

“Are you sure? You haven’t even seen the damage yet,” Thoros reached down to scratch a bandage and Beric pushed his hand away.

“Talk to me when you lose a spleen. Then we can compare scars,” he teased and kissed him again shyly. Thoros allowed things to proceed slowly in the hopes of them heating up.

“Ber-ic,” He finally groaned when Beric showed no inclination to move beyond first base.

“I’m just trying to take care of you,” Beric frowned earnestly, pulling back. “I don’t want you to ever get hurt again.”

“Nah I’m good, let’s risk it,” Thoros grinned, dragging him toward him again. 

“But—“

“I thought you wanted to take care of me,” Thoros drawled, giving the words a lecherous twist that Beric hadn’t intended. Because of course Beric would overcompensate and start treating him like glass. He was ridiculous and Thoros loved him very much.

“Um okay but you have to tell me if you’re feeling weird and we can’t have sex yet,” Beric tried to sound stern but only succeeded in sounding rather flustered.

“It’s cute that you want to wait,” Thoros smirked.

Beric rolled his eye and carefully swung his leg over so he was straddling Thoros’ lap. As they kissed, Thoros could feel them grinding against each other, and his mind was torn between wanting to tear off Beric’s clothes and wanting to ask if he remembered that day on the dock.

Then Beric reached down under the hospital gown and curled his fingers around Thoros and it was definitely the former. Thoros gasped in their kiss and Beric smiled against his lips, and he knew he didn’t just want Beric’s hand he wanted—

“Beric?” Ceylena Dondarrion poked her head in. “Oh! My goodness!” She slammed the door. Beric had frozen.

“Did your mom just...”

Beric nodded. He didn’t seem capable of speech. Thoros started rebuttoning the shirt that he’d been working on getting off Beric’s shoulders. When he was done, he patted Beric on the head. Beric responded by rolling off the bed and underneath.

“Beric! You can’t literally hide under the bed! It’s normal and healthy and...”

“...it’s my Mom!” Beric hissed from below.

“To be fair I don’t think she actually saw much,” Thoros said.

“I definitely didn’t!” Ceylena Dondarrion chirped from behind the door. 

There was a hollow groan from under the bed.

“Is everybody decent?” Ceylena asked.

Thoros sat up and put some pillows on top of his lap.

“Yes!” He called.

Ceylena came in and looked around.

“Oh really Beric, you’re being ridiculous,” she shook her head. He did not come out.

“I brought you some butterscotch brownies,” she said smiling at Thoros. “Here, I’ll put them on the table where you can reach them.”

“Thanks Mrs. D,” Thoros helped himself to one. “This is vey sweet of you.”

“You saved my son’s life,” she reminded him. “It is quite possibly the least I could do.”

Thoros bit into the brownie to avoid having to answer.

“I’ve been thinking, and I don’t mean to put you on the spot. Please just know this is an open offer for as long or as little as you like—but Beric’s father and I would really love to have you and your sister stay with us. We have plenty of guest rooms and space for your things. You don’t have to stay forever, but you certainly are welcome to.”

Thoros goggled at her.

“It’s just, something to consider,” Ceylena smiled at him. “Daric and I are very happy you’re okay.” Then she bustled out.

Thoros took a meditative bite of brownie.

“You can come out now,” he said to Beric. “The coast is clear.”

“I didn’t know she was going to do that,” Beric said sheepishly, his head poking out from beneath the bedframe.

“Clearly,” Thoros said drily. “What do you think?”

“I would love for you to move in,” Beric said immediately. “What do you think?”

“That you might have to get more comfortable about your mom walking in on us,” Thoros concealed a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Brienne goes to prom!


	95. Brienne (Losing My Religion 11 of 12)

“What is she up to?!” Jaime whispered as he gently pinned the flower corsage to her dress.

Brienne, who was quite sure that she had never looked half so lovely or worn anything half so expensive, gave a helpless shrug.

“Maybe she’s just trying to be nice?” 

Jaime looked at her stonily.

“You can’t tell me that in your entire life, she’s never done anything nice for you.”

“Of course not. But she’s never done anything nice for US,” Jaime pointed out. “She gave me a room key! She Pretty Woman’ed you for the gods’ sake!”

“Please don’t compare me to a prostitute,” Brienne said mildly.

“She never does anything without a reason, Brienne! What’s her reason?!”

“To make sure we have a good time?”

“That can’t be it,” Jaime frowned.

“JAIME!” A sharp commanding voice from the dressing room.

Jaime disappeared and then reappeared shortly, looking only more confused.

“She wants me to make sure you get something to drink before the limo arrives,” Jaime said, sounding shell-shocked.

“Hey,” Brienne linked her arm with his. “You’re overthinking this.”

He pulled her into him automatically.

“Are you really going to refuse to enjoy prom because your sister is being TOO nice?” Brienne kissed him affectionately, feeling some of his tension melt away.

“Ugh I have to thank her at some point, don’t I,” he sighed. Brienne shrugged, a smile twitching across her face.

“I would prefer to enjoy what you look like in this dress,” Jaime kissed her neck lightly.

“And maybe out of it,” Brienne tapped the room key sticking out of his breast pocket.

She enjoyed watching as the languid heat in Jaime’s green eyes flared into something more feral.

“Only maybe?” He whispered in her ear, and the feeling of his breath tickling her sent shivers down her spine.

“It depends on how well you behave,” Brienne tossed her hair in a pretend display of indifference. Inwardly she was agog. Who was this person trading innuendos for as good as she got? Maybe she needed the Pretty Woman treatment every day.

Jaime clearly appreciated it too because his smile became sharper.

“Then I shall have to be the height of chivalry,” he smirked. “I won’t leave your side.”

He insisted on taking her hand as they walked down the stairs to join the rest of the partygoers mingling below. Insisted on ordering her drink for her—a vodka cranberry—as though she couldn’t order it herself. When it was time for the royal court to leave, he once more took her hand and ran with her through the gauntlet of applauding high schoolers like they were at a wedding. Then, as she slowed by the limo, breathless with laughter, he scooped her up and deposited her within before promptly climbing on top.

“Jaime!” She groaned and half-heartedly tried to push him off.

“Now now wench, there’s not enough seats for all eight of us, and I already know that you prefer I sit on your lap rather than vice versa,” he teased. He gave a little wiggle just to remind her of the Greyjoy Rebellion, as if she could have possibly forgotten.

She was sure that a scathing retort was on the tip of her tongue but then everybody else piled into the car and she got distracted.

Robert popped a champagne battle and was filling flutes and sloshing liquid and Catelyn shrieked good-naturedly when he splashed her feet. Edmure was trying to tell anyone who would listen how he had curated the perfect playlist and Jorah and Lynesse were making out in the back.

Brienne remembered the last time she had sat with Jaime in a limo and how terribly grown up she had felt. Like she was on to bigger and better things. Now she didn’t feel grown up at all, and she wanted the moment to last forever. It was an odd thing having friends, a commodity she had always had in short supply, and a boyfriend, something that she had frankly never thought she would have at all. But now she did, and if her first year of high school had been a dizzyingly wild and occasionally terrifying ride, it was also one she never wanted to end.

They had all gotten out of class of that morning to help set up the gym, and even knowing exactly how the gym would look, Brienne couldn’t help but gasp when they walked in with the fluorescents off and the twinkling fairy lights they had strung everywhere softly glowing. The theme (chosen by Cersei) had been An Evening on the Rhoyne, and there was beautiful music playing and flowers everywhere, and they had made a fake river out of stones and aluminum foil and blue Saran Wrap that Brienne had thought silly looking during the day but now shimmered as if real water were flowing past. 

There was a fake bridge at one end with a photographer and props, and of course Jaime insisted on taking an endless series of increasingly ridiculous photos.

“I don’t want to hold the parasol! You hold the parasol!” Brienne swung it at him and he parried with a walking cane. 

“A duel then! Sir, we want a photo of us dueling! Have at it, my lady!” Jaime thrust with his cane and Brienne knocking it aside and then swung her parasol at the ridiculous top hat he had put on and sent is sailing.

“I yield!” Jaime grinned, sinking to his knees. 

“Now you’re my date and my prisoner,” Brienne teased as she pulled him up. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Keep me, I hope,” Jaime kissed her. The camera flashed again and Brienne broke away blushing terribly.

“Booooo! Lannister, hands off my queen!” Jorah called from the bridge. “C’mon Brienne, I want a photo of Freshmen Royalty, we have to savor this while it lasts!”

So Brienne and Jorah took one in fake mustaches, and then Robert and Catelyn took one with Robert holding the parasol and Catelyn holding the mustache, and then Robert and Cersei took a couple without any props but looking their usual terribly photogenic selves.

“We’ll do another series later with the crowns,” Cersei said briskly, as they ceded the bridge to Jorah and Lynesse.

“And one with the mustaches?” Robert said hopefully.

“Fine,” Cersei allowed. “But just one. And I get the monocle.”

Then it was time to start collecting tickets and she and Jorah had first shift.

Ned Stark showed up first with a bouquet of wildflowers, and Brienne smiled with a sneaking suspicion who they were for. Catelyn deserved a magical prom and so did Ned for that matter.

Some people lingered to chat, but most people were anxious to get in the gym and see what their thirty dragon tickets had bought them.

“Hi Brienne,” Davos Seaworth smiled a tad shyly as he and a girl Brienne didn’t know dropped their tickets in. “Have you seen Melisandre yet?”

Brienne blushed a bit to remember the last time she had seen Melisandre. She and Renly had ruthlessly grilled Brienne on Monday morning when Jaime had dropped Brienne off at the Baratheons’ house to pick up her car. They had gone extra early so nobody would see Brienne’s outfit, but had not counted on Renly literally sleeping in the backseat of Brienne’s car to prevent her escape. 

“Nope she and Stannis haven’t come through yet,” Brienne managed.

Stannis arrived uncharacteristically late.

“I was wondering if I could refund these tickets,” he said peremptorily.

“All sales are non-refundable,” Brienne said apologetically. “But a fifth of the proceeds have been earmarked for a variety of charitable causes including a travel fund for our marching band and better editing software for our yearbook staff.”

“Melisandre’s brother is in the hospital and she can’t make it,” Stannis frowned, seemingly wholly uninterested in supporting the marching band or the yearbook staff. “Surely that counts as an extenuating circumstance?”

“I’m so sorry, is everything okay?” Brienne asked, alarmed. Not that she was especially close with Thoros Asshai, but you go to a guy’s birthday and sit at his lunch table and conduct a daring rescue operation together and you feel a little invested in his life.

“Thoros is fine,” Jorah put in. “He texted me earlier. He said to tell you Melisandre is on her way!”

It was funny but when Stannis smiled, he looked like Renly.

Melisandre arrived of course with an entrance, hopping frantically on one foot and trying to get the strap of a sandal over the other, a phone dangling precariously from her hand.

“Is Stannis here yet, we have tickets, I swear! My phone died but if you call him, he can tell you. Brienne can you zip me up, I know I’m a mess, is it awful? Be honest, I tried to curl my hair and ran out of time and now it’s only like half curled and—“

“I’m here,” Stannis stood up from the chair he’d been waiting in. “And you look beautiful.”

Brienne had never seen Melisandre blush, despite them both having the same awful pale skin. But when Stannis said that, Brienne swore that her cheeks pinkened just a touch.

Edmure and Lynesse took the late shift and Brienne rescued Jaime from what looked like a very boring conversation with Addam Marbrand’s date.

They dutifully voted for Prom King and Queen. (Brienne voted for Jorah and Catelyn; Jaime rolled his eyes and voted for himself and Brienne.)

They danced and Brienne realized that she really was stepping on his feet a lot less. Guess what he had told her about practice was true. Addam and his date joined them, then Jorah and Lynesse, then Melisandre and Stannis. 

At exactly eleven, Aemon Targaryen shuffled to the microphone and tapped it on. The music died and the crowd hushed.

“I am happy to present this year’s Prom King and Prom Queen! May I introduce King Robert Baratheon and Queen Cersei Lannister!”

Jaime wolf whistled, and Brienne clapped enthusiastically because they were both very nice people. Or Robert was very nice and Cersei was very nice to her. Aemon set the crowns on their heads, his hands trembling slightly with age. Then the string quartet started to play and Robert spun Cersei across the dance floor, Cersei’s golden hair and Robert’s black hair creating a starkly beautiful contrast. Like something out of a picture postcard, or a fairy tale of princesses and tall dark strangers on white horses.

After that first song, everybody joined in, and Brienne felt as light as Cersei looked, her own tall and not-so-dark stranger guiding her in his arms. She loved how their eyes lined up so perfectly, how she wasn’t looking up or looking down. They were built for each other, she thought and then immediately felt sheepish for being so absurdly romantic. Jaime brought out this nonsense in her.

“Let’s go,” she whispered.

“Now?” He said huskily. “It’s not even midnight.”

“All the better to escape before our carriage turns into a pumpkin,” Brienne smiled and then Jaime smiled and when he kissed her she thought that she liked the way their lips lined up too.

He called them a car and then they slipped out a side door and had the car pick them up in the senior parking lot. Then it was on to the Two Seasons and they were laughing with the absurd giddiness of it all.

“Watch, the key won’t even work,” Jaime whispered in her ear. “Or there’ll be poison ivy in the sheets, or fire ants in the bathroom.”

“It’ll work,” Brienne said with a confidence that she did not truly possess. She swiped the card. There was a click and the door opened.

A beautiful suite strewn with rose petals lay before them. As Brienne took a step in, dozens of artificial candles clicked on.

“Wow,” Brienne managed.

“I am prepared to concede she might have wanted us to have a good time,” Jaime admitted.

“Well we shouldn’t disappoint her,” Brienne smiled. 

“I love you,” Jaime said. As he had every day since Sunday.

“I love you,” Brienne kissed him back, as she had every day since Sunday. And then giggled when he kept kissing her.

“I love your neck,” he said, kissing it lightly, as he unzipped her dress.

“I love your shoulder,” he said smiling up at her as he kissed it, and the dress fell in a pool to her feet. Brienne could honestly say that she had never thought she would be comfortable standing naked in front of a man. Now she felt more than comfortable. She felt confident.

“I love your breasts,” he breathed and captured her nipple in his mouth, running his tongue over it in a way that made her gasp.

“Jaime,” she whispered, warmth rushing through her body.

“Brienne,” he looked up at her and smiled and she pulled him back up to kiss her once more and they were falling backwards on to the bed. She got his belt off as he unbuttoned his shirt, and she pulled both his pants and his briefs down and looked up to discover that he was entirely naked beneath her.

“I think I’m the luckiest girl in the world,” she told him, and he looked up at her, eyes bright with lust and tenderness and probably a little bit of booze.

“I’m the lucky one,” he said, tracing a finger down her side lightly, tilting his head when she twitched slightly under his hand. “There’s not a day that goes by that I’m not thankful you punched me in the face.”

She laughed at that, and then her laughter turned to a gasp when he flipped them so he was on top and he was peppering her with kisses, his hand sliding further down and finding a spot between her legs that made her whine breathlessly, hips jerking toward his fingers.

“Brienne,” Jaime whispered roughly. “Do you still want me?”

“Always,” Brienne managed to gasp.


	96. Stannis (Losing My Religion 12 of 12)

Stannis had always found it difficult to make friends. He knew he had always been more serious and withdrawn than his peers. He knew he wasn’t fun like Robert. He had grown accustomed to seeing the crestfallen expression of slight dismay on people’s faces when they met him after meeting Robert. At this point, it should no longer hurt him, and yet he could still feel that dull ache when people looked at him quizzically.

Davos had never looked at him like that. Of course, Davos had known him before he ever met Robert, but Stannis liked that too. Robert had come first, did everything first. But not when it came to Davos. He had never even heard of Robert, not really, although he knew Stannis’ family. But when they had first met, he hadn’t even known who Stannis was. He had just liked him, on his own terms, and it was the first time that had ever happened in Stannis’ life.

Davos would have been Stannis’ best friend by virtue of being his only friend, but he was also his best friend in the way that Robert talked about Ned sometimes. Like another arm, like breathing, like something essential but also completely natural that you took for granted. 

Perhaps Stannis had too transactional an understanding of friendship, but he thought his bargain with Davos stood thus: he would ensure that Davos achieved personal and professional success. All Davos had to do was stick by his side. 

He would apply for scholarships and ghostwrite Davos’ essays and ask his father to call certain trustees on the board of the school. He would help Davos with his schoolwork and make sure nobody picked on him. He would get Davos into whatever college he was going to and make sure Davos had the means to come. He would go on to great things, likely at Stormsend Shipping, and he would hire Davos and they could work together and live in the same neighborhood and raise their children together. Literally all Davos had to do was accept this life that Stannis had so graciously gift-wrapped for him.

The idea that Davos might prefer some other life had never crossed Stannis’ mind. Frankly he found it disturbing. Why would anyone in his right mind prefer that disgusting apartment in Flea Bottom that Davos had sent him to in order to retrieve a fake passport?

And if Davos didn’t want all the things that Stannis could offer him, what incentive did he even have to stick around? Would they even be friends after graduation? Did Davos even want to go to college? What if he didn’t? What if he wanted to go work for stupid Sal and move crates on the wharves and lead a life of petty crime?

Maybe he had been wrong to yell at Davos for trying to help the people in his life—certainly he understood that impulse, the last week he’d basically been spending all of his free time researching scholarships for Melisandre. But now Davos wasn’t talking to him, and he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to apologize for seeming like he didn’t care about Davos’ life outside of his life, because of course he did. And when he thought about that, he worried that the balance of their friendship had always been about him and his problems and not Davos. But he also didn’t want to apologize for telling Davos that he should quit his stupid completely illegal job. It was all very complicated and confusing, and made worse by the fact that the person who usually helped him navigate through these sticky social situations was Davos.

Melisandre had done her best to give him advice of course, but the truth was that her best wasn’t very good. She meant well, but she was understandably distracted by getting disowned and almost losing her brother. And she had a habit of saying completely impenetrable things like “Just get over it,” and “What do you mean it’s not that simple, pick up a phone and call him!”

No, this was something that Stannis had to figure out for himself. Right after he helped Melisandre move the Asshais’ possessions to the Dondarrions.

He was currently dragging an enormous roller bag that Melisandre had told him to be careful with because it was full of Thoros’ money. Hadn’t these people ever heard of a bank?! A hamper of Melisandre’s clothing was precariously squeezed under that arm, and a bag of Thoros’ stuff that Melisandre had packed was under the other. Judging by the clinking sound, that one was mostly bottles of rum, and Stannis considered whether he should label it ‘Fragile’. He knew he should have brought his label-maker.

He was rounding the corner of the courtyard, when he froze. Davos’ truck was idling on the street. Melisandre, walking a step or two in front of him, did not freeze but instead doggedly trudged toward it, her own arms similarly full of boxes.

“Melisandre!” He hissed in a low undertone. When that did not break her stride, he raised his voice.

“Mel! Is that Davos’ truck?!”

“You know it’s Davos’ truck,” Melisandre sighed, awkwardly turning her entire body so she could see him around a thousand hangers of red dresses.

“But why?!”

“I need a truck to move my shit? And Davos has one? And he’s my friend?”

“I’ll put these here then,” Stannis started to drop his things, “and go back up for another trip. Your friend Davos can take them the rest of the way.”

“Stannis!” Melisandre snapped. “You are not leaving a suitcase with twenty-five thousand dragons in it unattended in the projects!”

“Twenty-five thousand dragons?!” Stannis goggled at the suitcase. How much did Hollow Hill pay? 

“He made ten thousand dragons gambling in Myr over spring break. They all did. Didn’t Robert tell you?!”

“He did not,” Stannis muttered. Did Robert know that gambling winnings were taxable and had to be declared? Had he even bothered to tell their parents? When their father was arrested for tax fraud, he would regret this cavalier attitude.

“Be that as it may, pick that suitcase back up and bring it to the truck,” Melisandre sniffed. Stannis glared but did as he was bid.

Davos had turned the truck off and hurried to help Melisandre when he saw them. He got her boxes of clothing into the bed of the truck and then turned to help Stannis. 

Stannis was perfectly capable of loading the boxes himself, but to refuse assistance would have required breaking the silence. So instead he let Davos take half the burden in silence.

Melisandre studied the two of them for a moment, eyes narrowed. Then she clapped her hands.

“Right, both of you, we still have at least two more trips.”

It was odd how Melisandre seemed to find any excuse to give them impossibly heavy boxes that could only be managed together. Fortunately, moving did not require much interaction beyond “hang on I think it’s slipping,” and “can we put it down for a second?”. Davos would grunt in response. Keeping the boxes between them negated the necessity to even make eye contact. 

They had gotten the last of the boxes done and Stannis walked back upstairs, expecting to see Melisandre locking up. Instead, she was standing at one end of the couch Robert had gifted them, expectantly.

Davos came up behind Stannis. A deep hollow groan escaped as he saw the couch.

“Think of it like a bonding exercise,” Melisandre in a bright brittle tone. “It’s how we met!” Stannis wanted to point out that they had actually met when Melisandre threatened him at knife-point, but decided not to in case she wanted to recreate that experience as well.

Davos had shuffled over to help Melisandre with her end. They all picked up the couch together, and Stannis was dismayed to discover that eye contact was now inescapable. He shifted his gaze to Melisandre, but she was glaring at him. He shifted back to Davos, who looked down. Stannis promptly looked down as well. They crashed into a wall.

“Will you two watch where you’re going?!” Melisandre snapped. Stannis reminded himself how terribly sad and bare the apartment had seemed without all of her belongings, and that this was no doubt a traumatic and emotional experience for her.

They navigated down the steps to the first corner and promptly got stuck.

“Really Stannis? No smart ideas?” Melisandre snarked. Stannis reminded himself that he loved her even when she was being a bitch.

“We need to rotate the couch so the bottom is facing the inner stairwell, like so,” Stannis managed to say in a dignified tone of voice. The couch squeaked forward a few inches. “Also you need to push harder.”

Mutinous grumbles from Melisandre and Davos, and he gritted his teeth. He was right, he was always right and somehow it was his fault when the truth was unpleasant?! The couch popped free and flattened him. Fuck, that had happened last time too. Oh well, only… three more flights of stairs. Fuck.

They had gotten it all the way to the courtyard when a middle-aged woman with a jowly unpleasant face suddenly came hurrying up.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing, Miss Asshai?”

Melisandre’s jaw tightened. Not a good sign. She let go of the couch, leaving Davos to bear his side alone.

“I am moving my belongings out of the apartment, on the appointed day, as requested,” she said smoothly, although her eye had started twitching.

“The contract your parents signed clearly stated that all furnishings were temple property and were to be left ON THE PREMISES,” the woman barked.

“This couch was a gift! It doesn’t belong to the temple, it belongs to me and my brother!” Melisandre’s voice was getting louder. Stannis shifted uncomfortably. This couch was quite heavy. He wondered if it was strictly necessary for them to be here for this debate, and whether he and Davos wouldn’t be better served by bringing it out to the truck while Melisandre argued. Evidently, Davos had the same thought, because he gave a surreptitious head bob toward the street. Stannis nodded.

“Stay right where you are!” The woman boomed before they had gone three steps. “This couch is not leaving this courtyard! You signed a lease!”

“I never signed a lease! And I would like to see this so-called lease and whether it permits you to evict minors on three days’ notice! Is that even legal?!” Melisandre shouted right back.

Stannis and Davos exchanged looks of mute despair. As one, they let the couch drop to the ground. 

“Your parents signed a lease and you know it!”

“And what are your grounds for eviction anyway?! It’s not our fault that you kicked us out of your stupid cult!” Melisandre was ranting. Stannis walked around to sit down on the couch. Davos had already made himself comfortable. “And on the word of one lying little snake, I’d like to add! Where was our due process? Where was our right to face our accuser? Was there any kind of oversight? But no, you’re just going to kick us on the street. I’m sixteen! For all you know I’m going to be on the streets tonight prostituting myself for a place to stay!” 

Stannis blushed. She was staying with Beric’s family, but he had absolutely offered his own home. There had been no question of er… prostituting herself. Davos also apparently thought this was overkill, because he looked at Stannis and rolled his eyes. Despite himself, Stannis smiled.

“What does this have to do with the light blasted couch?!” The woman riposted, completely disinterested in Melisandre’s problems.

“My point is that I have nothing to lose!” Melisandre snarled. “I will literally die for this couch! Unless you can say the same, you better back the fuck off!”

“Figuratively die,” Stannis corrected under his breath.

“Pardon?” Davos looked at him. 

“She means she will figuratively die for the couch,” Stannis explained. Davos looked at Melisandre doubtfully.

“Are you sure?”

Stannis conceded that he was not.

The woman was apparently not sure either. 

“If you can prove that you purchased the couch and that it’s not temple property, I am willing to make an exception in light of exceptional circumstances,” she allowed.

“Pull the security footage then! It was the second day of school, that was August 20. You’ll see us bringing it up.”

“I don’t know that those cameras actually work,” the woman frowned.

“I know exactly which of those cameras work,” Melisandre informed her haughtily. “Let’s go to the security room. You two stay there,” she cast a backwards glance at Stannis and Davos. So nice to be remembered.

There was an awkward pause.

“So how have you been?” Stannis finally asked. It had been really strange not riding with Davos in the mornings. Not talking to him at lunch.

“I’ve been good,” Davos mumbled. “You?”

“Yeah, me too,” Stannis looked down. 

There was another long pause.

“Actually this week has sucked,” Stannis admitted.

Davos exhaled.

“Tell me about it.”

“Robert never gets up on time, I’ve had five tardies in five days.”

“My car radiator is leaking, I have to pull over every ten blocks to add water.”

“Melisandre’s been skipping more class than she’s been attending, and I’m running ragged trying to get all her stuff for her.”

“Marya and I had a huge fight before prom because I said her siblings didn’t need a babysitter.”

“Did you know that Beric and Thoros are like… together?”

“Woah, no!”

“Right?!”

“I thought they were friends like Robert and Ned are friends!” Davos scratched his chin. “Hey, do you think…”

Stannis, imagining Robert and Ned dating, let out a guffaw. 

“Not if Cersei has anything to say about it. Did you know she made him sign a contract when they were first hooking up?”

“No!” Davos grinned, looking both appalled and fascinated.

“I heard them laughing about it one night. I’m sure he’s not allowed to go gay after dating her. She wouldn’t want to be the girl that ruined women for Robert Baratheon,” Stannis smirked.

“She’s nuts,” Davos shook his head. “Tywin Lannister is totally gonna be your father-in-law.”

Stannis groaned, and there was another beat of silence. But it wasn’t awkward, it was the normal companionable silence that had always existed between them.

“Look,” Stannis shifted uncomfortably. “Your decisions are your decisions. I think it’s really dumb of you to be working for Sal, but I’m sorry I flipped out at you. I was really out of line”

Davos gave him a weak smile.

“I’m sorry if it seemed like I don’t appreciate how much you’ve helped me. I know you’ve got my back. And… and I’ve been thinking about what you said and I’ve been applying for some stuff that’s less…” He trailed off, looking for the right word.

“Illegal?” Stannis offered.

“Yeah,” Davos laughed.

“Um, I could maybe help you find something at my dad’s office if you don’t mind working in a stockroom?” Stannis began hesitantly. “But I get it if that’s not interesting enough,” he finished quickly.

“No, that sounds… cool,” Davos said. 

Melisandre returned, her hair whipping slightly in the wind, looking coyly triumphant.

“The battle is over. We have won!” She announced. Stannis and Davos exchanged a glance and got up with a sigh.

Melisandre pouted at the lack of excitement and then walked over to help Davos.

“Nah, Stannis and I have got it,” he said and Stannis nodded.


	97. Robert (Rains of Castamere 1 of 10)

Robert got the text in the middle of sex with Cersei, saw it when he glanced over at the nightstand after his phone buzzed. 

“YES!” He shouted, and promptly came almost immediately. He collapsed on top of her, snuggling his face into her soft hair, enjoying the feeling of her curves against him, the flush of warmth. She typically allowed this for a moment or two. Today, she tolerated him lying on top of her for a full minute before she kicked him off. He rolled onto his back with a groan.

“I know I’m good, but I never knew I was that good,” Cersei arched an eyebrow, her green eyes dancing. Oh. She thought his exclamation had been for her. He opened his mouth to correct that false impression, and then seeing how pleased she was, thought better of it.

“You knew you were that good,” he grinned instead.

“You’re right, I did,” Cersei smirked. She peeled the condom off him and went to freshen up in the bathroom.

Alone, Robert air boxed triumphantly. Ned had gotten into the Aerie!!! He knew that the regular application decisions came out in May, but Ned had already heard from Winterfell (obviously admitted) and the Citadel (rejected) and Sunspear (admitted). Robert had been too nervous to ask about the Aerie, and the longer Ned didn’t mention it, the more Robert assumed he’d been rejected.

Robert gave a contented sigh and hugged Cersei’s pillow. They could go off to the Vale together and have all sorts of adventures and even if absolutely everything else was changing, he would still have Ned.

Cersei came back, looking absurdly sexy in one of his T-shirts. Would he still have Cersei? 

Much like his quandary with Ned, Robert had been scared to bring it up. Sure it was months away, but this was Cersei. She was always ninety-four steps ahead. She had absolutely made the decision already, and the longer things went without her bringing it up, the more he felt like the answer was probably no. 

“C’mere queenie,” he reached for her, and wrapped his arms around her waist and holding her close and tight, his head leaned against her chest. She was so tiny, like a bird. Rationally, he knew that they probably wouldn’t work long distance. He was going to be a famous college quarterback after all. Probably go pro before he even graduated. There would be a thousand girls who would happily sleep with him. It being the Aerie, hundreds of them would be able to do his homework. A handful of them might even be as pretty as Cersei. 

“Are you trying to cop a feel?” Cersei tugged at his hair and he laughed. But none of them would have her black humor or her ability to just make things happen the way she wanted them to or that weird missing piece that sometimes Robert felt fit into the piece that he was missing so they clicked into place like a puzzle. Only he couldn’t say that.

“Yes,” he said instead, slyly, and she slapped him lightly upside the head. 

“You’re incorrigible,” she huffed, but didn’t try to escape. She would never trust him not to cheat, and she had always made it clear that high school was for practice and did anybody really picture Cersei Lannister marrying her high school sweetheart? That shit was for Catelyn and Ned, not them.

“I’ve got to find Ned,” he mumbled. “He got into the Aerie. Where do you think he’s at?” All the same.

“The hospital,” Cersei said disinterestedly. “Doesn’t he live there now?” All the same, he wondered why they couldn’t try.

Ned was not in the hospital, which Robert ascertained by covertly peeking into Lyanna’s room on the ground floor through one of the windows. Ascertaining Ned’s absence, he skulked downward into the flower beds and prepared to army crawl to safety.

“Robert?” The window swung open and Lyanna blinked down at him. “I thought I saw you.”

Robert looked up at her blankly. Ned had said they’d shaved her head for the surgery, and it was still very short, not much more than brown fuzz that covered the worst of the scarring. Her face was still pretty, but whatever hook had caught in his heart and gouged chunks when she’d pulled it out was gone. It was hard to even dislike her, because say what you want about cheating and public humiliation, at least it wasn’t a fucking car bomb.

“Did you want to come in?” Lyanna asked slowly, when he seemed disinclined to say anything. No. Not really. 

“I was looking for Ned,” he said.

“Well I didn’t think you were looking for me,” Lyanna rolled her eyes. “But I’m bored. Get off the damned flowers and get in here.”

Robert sat in the chair Ned usually sat in.

“How have you been?” She asked.

“Good,” he said. She glared.

“We were friends for seventeen years and dated for three, and the best you can do is good?!” Lyanna crossed her arms. 

We were friends for seventeen years and dated for three and you cheated on me and then announced it to the entire school instead of talking to me. You don’t deserve the best I can do, Robert wanted to snap back. But that only reminded him of how much he and Lyanna had fought, how fucking exhausting it had been. So instead he cleared his throat and tried to do better.

“I came to congratulate Ned on getting into the Aerie,” he said. “Have you heard back on anything?”

“I got in early to Sunspear,” Lyanna said quietly. “Got into Winterfell regular. Those are kind of my options.”

“Where you thinking?” Robert asked.

“I need to take a gap year anyway. Finish up my classes, maybe do some traveling. I always wanted to travel, get away from all... this,” Lyanna waved her hand. “And now this,” she touched her buzzed hair ruefully.

“You’re still hot,” Robert offered. 

“Thanks,” Lyanna drawled sarcastically, but her eyes crinkled in a way that Robert knew meant she was pleased.

“Hey, can I ask you a favor?” She said suddenly.

A year ago I would have died for you. A year ago to the day almost, spring fling is next week. Now if it takes more than twenty minutes, I’m bailing. Robert shifted in his seat. 

“Okay?” 

“Some nurse dropped off a box of my stuff they recovered from... the accident. The police had it as evidence or something. Just like my handbag or whatever. It’s got blood on it, and I don’t really want it here. Can you just get rid of it?” Lyanna gestured to a small box on the table in the corner. 

“Oh, yeah okay,” he stood up and took the box. It was super light. 

“Thanks,” Lyanna sighed with relief. She started to close her eyes. “I’m sorry about the way I ended things,” she said, when he was almost out the door. She wasn’t looking at him, her face turned out the window. “I’m glad you found somebody who treats you better than that.”

No, Cersei will end things in some very refined and completely civilized way, Robert suddenly thought with bitterness. May it bring him much comfort.

“Sorry we made each other miserable,” he said to Lyanna. She turned to face him then, and the light caught her gray eyes and for a brief moment something like an ember flickered inside him before going out.

“Me too,” she smiled sadly.

Robert meant to throw out the box on the way out of the hospital, but he was still up in his head about the whole Cersei thing. By the time he got back to his house, it was still there, but so was Cersei’s car, so he hurried back to his room to see what was up, the box still under the crook of his arm. 

“A present? For me?” She splayed her perfectly manicured fingers over her heart.

“What?” He asked stupidly, and she eyed the box.

“It’s garbage,” he said. “Ned wasn’t at the hospital and Lyanna asked if I could throw some of her stuff out.”

“So instead you brought it back to your room so you could add it to some kind of creepy Lyanna shrine?” Cersei sat up, looking annoyed.

“First, if I had a creepy Lyanna shrine you would have found it already,” Robert huffed. “Second, I was going to throw it out but then I saw your car parked and thought I could catch you for round two,” he dropped the box and walked over to the bed.

“Hmmm,” Cersei looked appeased but only just. “What’s in the box?”

“Stuff the police recovered from the car,” Robert shrugged, running his hand up her thigh and squeezing it. 

“Oooooh interesting. Have you looked through it yet?” Cersei craned her neck at the box. Robert sighed and withdrew his hand.

“No?”

“Let’s do it now,” Cersei clapped her hands and looked so excited that Robert didn’t have the heart to ask about the ethical ramifications. He obediently got the box and opened it on the floor.

“Bring it up here,” Cersei frowned.

“What if there’s blood on it?! I’m not getting Lyanna or Rhaegar’s blood all over my sheets.”

“It’s dried blood, Robert,” Cersei said scornfully, “it’s not getting on anything.” But she joined him on the floor nonetheless.

A ragged sweatshirt, an earring, a handbag...

“Stop!” Cersei grabbed his arm and stared at the handbag.

“What?” Robert grunted.

“All of Lyanna’s secrets could be in that handbag!” She looked delighted.

“I don’t think she has any secrets,” Robert tried to tamp down expectations.

“Everybody has secrets,” Cersei rolled her eyes. “I have the formula of my anti-oxidant face mask, you have your creepy Lyanna shrine...”

“I do not!” Robert whined. Nobody ever listened to him. Cersei was already digging through the handbag. A tube of lip gloss, a wallet, some keys, a phone.

“Jackpot,” Cersei breathed, holding the phone. Robert glanced at it dubiously. The screen was cracked and it looked like the plastic casing had partially melted.

“It probably won’t even turn on,” he said. 

Cersei was already rummaging in her own purse for a charger.

“We won’t know if we don’t try,” she plugged it in. Robert held his breath, not sure what result he was hoping for. The phone buzzed as it began to charge.

“What’s her password?” Cersei demanded. 

“Why would I know that?!” Robert groaned.

“Surely you must have some guesses,” Cersei eyed the phone. “Her birthday? Rhaegar’s birthday?”

“Um try BNLB,” Robert said idly. Mostly to cover up the fact that he had forgotten when Lyanna’s birthday was, if he ever knew it.

Cersei looked skeptical but typed it in. Immediately the phone unlocked. She stared at it. After a minute or two, Robert got bored.

“Aren’t you going to go through it?!” He demanded.

“I didn’t actually think you would know the password,” she admitted. She made no move to touch it. Robert shifted impatiently. Really? She had dragged them this far and now they were going to stop just short of the finish line.

“Ugh give it here,” he held his hand out. She passed it over uncomplaining. He immediately went to the photos, just to see if she had any kinky sex videos.

“Robert!” Cersei yelled.

“It’s not anything I haven’t seen,” Robert protested. Especially since there were no kinky sex videos. Rhaegar and Lyanna. Gross. Lyanna and Ned. Aw. Lyanna selfie. Meh.

“It’s an invasion of privacy!”

“What exactly did you think breaking into her phone entailed?!”

“Stop going through her photos! Pick something else!” 

Cersei got so bossy when she was losing an argument. He quit out of the photos and looked at the phone dubiously, not sure what else he really wanted to see. It was May, any texts she had would be five months old. He noticed that she had a voicemail. Idly he put it on speaker and hit play.

“Lyanna? It’s Rhaegar,” the voice crackled in, sounding exactly as Robert always remembered him sounding, five months ago when he was alive. He moved to turn it off because it was a little creepy—he had liked Rhaegar fine, and then he had HATED him, but he had never wanted him dead except maybe when they were fighting and Robert had beaten him into a pulp and some little voice in his head had whispered that he could keep going and nobody could say it wasn’t an accident. Ned had pulled him off though, and he was glad he had. He hadn’t heard that whisper in a long time. 

“I don’t have much time, I think I’m being watched,” Rhaegar muttered right as Robert was about to hit delete. His finger paused, hovering over the screen, and behind him Cersei sat up.

“I’ve figured out what he’s up to, he’s got some kind of secret project that he thinks is going to make him millions and take out his enemies in one blow. I’m waiting at the end of your street, I can’t risk being seen. I’ll tell you all about it when you get here only... only please hurry Ly. This—this is really big. A lot of people could get hurt. People could die.”

The message clicked off. That’s all there was. 

He and Cersei looked at each other. Cersei whose cool green gaze always reminded him of a femme fatale in the noir detective movies Renly made him watch sometimes. The dame that would shoot a man and then have a smoke as his blood drained into the gutter. Cersei looked scared.

People had died. Rhaegar had died. And Robert was sitting on the floor of his bedroom holding evidence that maybe it was murder.

But that wasn’t right. Rhaegar had died because someone had put a car bomb in the mayor’s car. Someone had tried to assassinate the mayor. Nobody would murder a nineteen year old kid. Would they?


	98. Jaime (Rains of Castamere 2 of 10)

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Jaime grumbled as he drove himself and Cersei to the Baratheons’.

“Really?” Cersei said languidly. “You’d let your precious Brienne go off on one of Robert’s hare-brained adventures without you?”

Jaime shot Cersei a glare, but she had settled deep into the passenger seat and looked unruffled.

“Fine, I can’t believe YOU’RE doing this,” Jaime rephrased. “Since when do you even have a posse?!”

“It’s Robert’s posse,” Cersei shrugged.

“Since when are we in Robert’s posse?! Why did you even let him form a posse?! Aren’t you supposed to keep those daft ideas of his under control?”

“Oh who can really stop him once he gets his heart set on something,” Cersei waved a hand dismissively.

You can! Jaime wanted to shout. You’ve got a leash on him that’s about six inches long. If he does anything, it’s because you’ve allowed it. He had seen enough guys in Cersei’s thrall to know the symptoms. Heck, he might have displayed one or two of those symptoms at some point.

But that meant that for some ungodly reason, Cersei supported Robert calling a posse, and that put Jaime on edge even more than Brienne immediately getting involved.

“So the two of you had Lyanna’s phone because...” He started again.

“Reasons,” Cersei supplied. 

“And decided to break into it...”

“Naturally,” Cersei said airily.

“And there was a message from Rhaegar saying what exactly?”

“Oh look, it sounds crazy now, but he’ll play it for everybody when we get there.”

Jaime frowned. He had known the moment he’d woken up to a text from Robert that this was going to be a bad day, even before he’d actually opened the text and read the contents.

First, he and Robert were not texting buddies. Seriously, the last text Robert had sent to him personally (as opposed to a group thread) was in October, and said ‘ _Forgot my playbook in locker room, u still there? Can u grab?_ ’ Which Jaime had ignored, even though he had been in the locker room because it wasn’t his job to be Robert’s keeper. (That was Ned’s job.)

Second, a lifetime of enforced proximity had taught him that outside of football season, Robert was not an early riser. When Jaimie woke up at eight—Tywin graciously moved breakfast from seven to eight on weekends—he already had the text. Jaime wasn’t sure what kind of crisis would prompt Robert to get up before ten let alone before eight. His first thought was that it was Cersei-related, because it would explain the text directly to him. He had padded outside, only to see Cersei already dressed and walking down to breakfast. 

“Why is your boyfriend texting me?”

“Was the text not clear? I made extensive revisions to the draft he sent me,” Cersei frowned. Of course she did.

“I haven’t read it,” Jaime admitted.

“Based on a voicemail that Lyanna received from Rhaegar the night before the bomb went off, Robert believes that Rhaegar may have been the intended target. That it wasn’t terrorism but murder.”

Jaime was about to make some snide comment about whether Secret Agent Baratheon had any theories about the culprit. Would he be using his 00 status to gun down the killer? Then he realized, based on Cersei’s careful phrasing and her admission that she had seen and (ultimately) approved his text, that she believed him.

Well fine. Again, a lifetime of proximity to Robert Baratheon had also taught Jaime that Robert had the strange ability to convince ordinarily levelheaded people to go along with his whims. (See Greyjoy Rebellion.) Jaime had assumed Cersei was immune to this particular trait of Robert’s, but perhaps he had finally broken her finely tuned bullshit detector though sheer perseverance.

What did Jaime care if Cersei wanted to run off and play detective? Nothing. He was sure she had some very cute super sleuth outfit picked out.

Then Brienne had texted, asking if she would see him there, and Jaime realized that once again it had fallen upon him to save this entire enterprise from disaster.

So the Lannister twins had sat down to breakfast and then upon conclusion, and a brief recess, set out for the Baratheons’. Jaime was amused to note that apparently super sleuths wore tight sweaters and what looked like riding breeches.

When they pulled in, Jaime was surprised to discover not only Brienne’s car, but numerous others. Offhand he recognized Oberyn’s red convertible, Stannis’ friend’s truck and Ned’s Audi.

“Exactly how many texts did Robert send?” Jaime asked through gritted teeth. 

“You, Brienne, Stannis, Melisandre, Ned, Thoros, Beric, Davos, Jorah, Oberyn and Mace. Posse people.”

“He texted Mace?!” Jaime sputtered. “He doesn’t even like Mace!”

“Mace went to Myr with them,” Cersei said. “His discretion can be trusted and he has access to resources that could prove invaluable.”

“You mean Olenna Tyrell’s credit card?” Jaime muttered under his breath.

“Quite so,” Cersei said serenely. 

Jaime parked angrily, stomped to the front door without waiting to see if Cersei was following, and sustained his bad mood a whole three steps in the door.

“Jaime!” Brienne rounded the bend and greeted him with a wide smile.

“Hey,” he hugged her and felt his irritation drain away. She finally broke the hug when it became apparent that he had no intention of doing so, and he retaliated by kissing her even though Renly was standing right there looking unimpressed.

“Okay you,” Brienne pushed him off gently after a second or two of that. “Has Cersei told you what they’ve been figuring out? Renly’s been catching me up and it’s awful.”

Jaime inwardly sighed at her earnest expression. 

“Cersei never tells me anything,” he said, which was both true and the least disparaging thing that he could contribute in response.

“Hurry, we’ll be late for the presentation!” Renly plucked at Brienne’s arm.

A presentation. Dear gods.

Sure enough, Renly ushered them into the Baratheon home movie center. Brienne happily followed Renly to the front row. Not even for Brienne to wear that lacy thing she had worn on his birthday would he be sitting in the front row. Instead he skulked to the back where Oberyn and Mace were sitting. Oberyn gave him a casual nod. Mace was rocking back and forth muttering ‘Not again, not again, not again...’

“Good morning,” Stannis walked to the front of the room and addressed the crowd. Jaime saw his last hope for a sanity check wave a cheery farewell.

“We appreciate you making yourselves available and will cut to the chase. At 5:02 pm on December 31, Rhaegar Targaryen sent Lyanna Stark the following message.”

To the side, Robert hit a button on their AV system, and Rhaegar’s voice came crackling over the speakers.

“Lyanna? It’s Rhaegar… I don’t have much time, I think I’m being watched. I’ve figured out what he’s up to, he’s got some kind of secret project that he thinks is going to make him millions and take out his enemies in one blow. I’m waiting at the end of your street, I can’t risk being seen. I’ll tell you all about it when you get here only... only please hurry Ly. This—this is really big. A lot of people could get hurt. People could die.”

Okay, that was… eery. Stannis stepped forward once more.

“At 6:15 pm on December 31, a car bomb went off, killing Rhaegar Targaryen. Police inquiries at the time suggested that an attempt had been made on the mayor’s life, but not only was no perpetrator identified, no suspects were ever found. Inquiries made by Jorah Mormont—“ here Stannis nodded to Jorah, was there no end to the conspiracy madness, “—reveal that the case was given to two political appointees rather than the senior detectives that would typically take lead. The investigation lasted approximately half as long as the average unsolved murder in King’s Landing and a tenth as long as similar investigations into politically motivated acts of terrorism that have occurred in Westeros over the last ten years. Six weeks after the explosion, formal investigation ceased on orders from the commissioner himself.”

Jaime looked around to see how people were taking it. Brienne, Renly, Davos and Jorah were hanging on every word. Melisandre and Cersei were both nodding along as though they had already heard this speech and given feedback and were thus far approving its execution. Mace appeared to be undergoing some kind of nervous breakdown. Of the remaining four, Jaime would have guessed Ned, Beric and Oberyn as mildly intrigued and Thoros as grimly resigned to this being a lost cause. So basically no help from the peanut gallery would be forthcoming.

“The case file was closed, but pictures of certain files found their way into our hands,” Cersei now picked up the thread. What?! Did Cersei convince Jorah to break into an evidence room last night?! 

“The accelerant was a wildfire based compound, and the car possessed a rudimentary timer. As you all know, wildfire is a Schedule I restricted substance and thus highly susceptible to tracing. However, this avenue of investigation was not pursued. We have called you here for a simple reason. We do not know that Rhaegar Targaryen rather than his father was the primary target of this attack. We do know however that the police investigation was fundamentally flawed. We are suggesting a hypothetical based on this voicemail. First, that Rhaegar Targaryen knew something that put his life in danger. Second, that the individual referred to in the voicemail was either responsible or implicated in Rhaegar’s death and put pressure on the police to kill the investigation.”

“Even if this is true,” Jaime raised his voice to cut through his sister’s speech. “What exactly do you expect us to do about it? Write some student letters to the paper?”

“We know what this sounds like,” Robert stepped forward. “Honestly, we’re not sure what we do about it. So far, our best idea is that if we do a little bit of digging, maybe we can come up with enough evidence to force the police to do their jobs and reopen this investigation. But we asked all of you here this morning because we trust you. If you want out right now, there’s the door. No hard feelings. All we ask is that you keep this meeting to yourself, because we’re going to give this our best shot.”

He paused, waiting for anyone who wanted to leave to do so. Everyone turned to look at Jaime, and Jaime knew that this was his cue to exit, perhaps with a few suitably prophetic warnings about this being a waste of time and money. But when everybody turned to look, so did Brienne, and Jaime knew he would never willingly disappoint that cerulean gaze. So instead he crossed his arms and stayed put.

“Right,” Robert cleared his throat. “If everyone is staying, I guess the next order of business is ideas. We’ve come up with a few of our own already.”

Stannis pulled out a list.

“Jorah, can you talk to your dad and some of his friends around the office about why the case was dropped?” Jorah nodded.

“Ned, can you talk to Lyanna about what she remembers about Rhaegar in the days leading up to the crash? We know she doesn’t have any memories from that day, but maybe Rhaegar said something to her earlier?” Ned looked a little uncomfortable but also nodded.

“Robert, Renly and I are going to go through Stormsend Shipping’s old records. If someone brought wildfire into King’s Landing, there has to be a record. Stormsend Shipping controls seventy percent of the legal shipping in and out of the capital. The wildfire compound identified in the preliminary investigation only has a shelf-life of about two years. We can create at least a partial list of who’s been bringing in wildfire and see if any of them have government connections.”

“Legal shipping,” Davos said. Stannis stopped and looked at him, which led to everyone else in the audience turning as well. Realizing he was the center of attention, Davos blushed.

“You said Stormsend Shipping controls seventy percent of legal shipping. I would have said more—they have a virtual monopoly and it’s been driving prices through the roof. But that’s just made illegal shipping more lucrative and more sophisticated. And like Cersei said, wildfire is one of the most heavily restricted substances in the world. Whomever wanted to make a bomb would have never shipped the wildfire legally when they could have done so illegally.”

Stannis was mulling this information but looking impressed. Jaime had to admit, he was not the only one. And Davos hadn’t even finished.

“Did anybody here know that the Greyjoys have increased their cargo fleet by thirty percent in the last year? They are buying up competitors as fast as they can, and lately…” Davos looked down at his feet and swallowed. “Lately they’ve been bringing in boxes in the middle of the night marked fragile, and I heard Balon Greyjoy make a joke about it being a government contract.”

An audible ripple through the room. Fuck. This was exactly how mobs got started. If he was going to do something, Jaime had to act fast.

“Well there you have it,” Jaime bit. “Balon Greyjoy knows all about your little problem. Why don’t you go ask him Robert? I’m sure he’d be happy to have a deep heart to heart about his family business with the guy who kicked the crap out of him and evicted him from Center Table.”

Robert scowled and opened his mouth to say something no doubt profanity-laden and offensive that Jaime could use to start a fight, when Cersei cut in, smiling sweetly.

“You’re right, Jaime. Balon won’t talk to Robert.” Jaime leaned back in his chair feeling smugly satisfied. Even if there was no outright fight, at least the momentum of this lunacy had been stalled. Only Cersei wasn’t finished.

“But I rather think Euron will talk to me.”


	99. Cersei (Rains of Castamere 3 of 10)

“Oh Lysa,” Cersei dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. “I’m such a fool.”

“Nobody thinks that,” little Lysa Tully shook her head and her frizzy red hair whipped back and forth emphatically. How Cersei yearned to apply a deep conditioning treatment to those split ends.

“I just thought when I told him that I wanted to wait that he would... would wait too,” Cersei’s lower lip trembled.

“He should have!” Lysa fell over herself to agree.

“And to find out that way...” Cersei closed her eyes as if the memory were too painful to endure.

“How did you find out?” Lysa was still trying to seem sympathetic, but her ears had distinctly pricked up. 

“I heard his doctor leaving a voicemail at the house about... about his STD!” Cersei gave an elaborate wail to conceal the smirk that was threatening to overtake her face. She still hadn’t exactly decided what STD she was giving Robert if Lysa decided to press for details. Chlamydia?

“Oh Cersei!” Lysa flung her arms around Cersei’s waist, enveloping her in a hug. Cersei tried to resist squirming away. “It’s too dreadful for words!” Lysa continued, oblivious to her disdain.

“I haven’t even confronted him yet,” Cersei shuddered. “How can I even go into that cafeteria alone and face him? Knowing that he’s been cheating on me?”

“You won’t be alone,” Lysa promised, her dishwater blue eyes taking on an uncharacteristic brightness. “You’ll have me!”

This conversation had conveniently taken place between second and third period. Lysa shared third period with her on-and-off again boyfriend, Petyr Baelish. By the time Cersei marched into the cafeteria fifteen minutes late, the entire school was buzzing with the drama. Lysa fluttered at her elbow like a particularly aggressive hummingbird.

She ignored the door to the kitchen and instead marched straight to Center Table, her hips swaying even as she pulled her face into a scowl.

Robert looked up from where he been talking to Ned.

“Hey Queenie...”

“Don’t you queenie me!” Cersei slapped him across the cheek. Robert shot her a look that conveyed that he thought it had been a little harder than necessary. Poor dear had no flair for drama.

“What the fuck Cersei?!” He yelled back, at a volume that ensured that literally everybody was listening. The clatter of silverware abruptly ceased.

“No Robert, the question is what DID you fuck?! Or were you not going to tell me?!”

“Tell you what?! That you’re a frigid bitch?! Hey guess what everybody, this is Robert Baratheon, your lord paramount speaking, and in today’s morning announcement, CERSEI LANNISTER IS A FUCKING COCKTEASE!”

“AT LEAST I DON’T HAVE HERPES!” Herpes? Sometimes she surprised even herself.

“I don’t have herpes!” Robert yelped in genuine outrage. Oh improv was so much fun!

“That’s not what your doctor says!” Cersei put her hands on her hips and as one Center Table turned to look at Robert. Even Ned, Mace and Oberyn looked convinced.

“I don’t have herpes, you crazy fucking bitch!”

“I think you should leave,” Cersei crossed her arms.

“Make me,” Robert sneered.

Cersei walked over to him. He was sitting with his back to the Ironborn table, and when Cersei leaned to whisper into his ear, her sundress flashed just a peek of her thong to that side of the cafeteria. She didn’t even have to look to know who was watching.

“You’re kind of hot when you’re mad,” Cersei murmured in Robert’s ear. 

“You gave me herpes?!” He whispered back sulkily, but kept his face in glower mode like she was saying something not to his liking. 

“I’ll make it up to you. Now sell it.”

“BITCH!” Robert roared into her face. He stood up and grabbed his cafeteria tray. He stomped over to Clegane’s table and slammed it down between Brienne and Beric. Across the table, Clegane could be seen burying his face in his arms.

Cersei demurely smoothed her sundress and sat in Robert’s vacated seat.

After a pause, conversation resumed in the cafeteria, this time with an urgent undertone. Cersei knew that the question on everybody’s mind was what she had on Robert Baratheon to make him cede his seat. She couldn’t see the Ironborn, but she could hear them whispering behind her. She strained her ears to see if she could pick up one voice in particular, but she could not. He had been there though. He had seen exactly what she had wanted him to see.

Next period, she had study hall, as did Oberyn Martell. She met him in the chemistry lab, where he had been diligently pounding something with a mortar and pestle.

“And the Oscar goes to...” Oberyn grinned. 

“I just want to thank my father. My success would not have been possible were I not so desperate for his attention,” Cersei placed her hand over her heart like she was giving a speech.

“You were marvelous. Robert wasn’t bad either.”

“I trust you have want I want?”

“Darling, I certainly do,” Oberyn said with a lecherous smile. Cersei folded her arms.

“No harm in giving it a shot. You are newly single,” Oberyn winked, carefully dumping the powder into a ziplock bag, sealing it and tossing it to her. Cersei caught the bag and looked at the powder within absently.

Single. She supposed in a way she was. Her thing with Robert had started with a fake relationship. Had it just ended with a fake breakup? Maybe that was for the best. No hard feelings, no watching the good parts of what they had wither and die long distance. Appearances to the contrary, this had been the most low-key amicable ending she’d ever experienced. Wasn’t there something to be said for having this as an ending? Not walking in on Robert having some tawdry affair with a college sorority girl? To conceal her uncharacteristic indecision, she shook the powder and looked at Oberyn.

“You’re positive this will work?”

“It’s enough to subdue a pygmy elephant,” Oberyn assured her. Something about that phrasing seemed off. Cersei frowned.

“What?” 

“Like hypothetically, if you needed to subdue a pygmy elephant,” Oberyn shifted uncomfortably. “This would do that.”

“Do you… often… need to subdue pygmy elephants?” Cersei asked slowly.

“It’s a figure of speech.”

“It’s really not.”

They stared at each other. Oberyn pushed down his aviators so they were covering his eyes.

“Will that be all?”

“I suppose so,” Cersei said, making a mental note that she really needed to get to the bottom of what had happened in Myr. Even Robert had been suspiciously reticent about the subject.

Having recently been dumped by her boyfriend, a heartbroken Cersei Lannister naturally found herself without a ride home. And of course somebody of her station and background would never be caught riding the bus. Instead, she stood by the flagpole and made a show of checking her phone, as if she were waiting for someone like Jaime to respond to a text. Head bent, she heard but did not see the motorcycle pull to a stop in front of her.

“Does the lady need a ride?” The voice was light and just a touch over-confident. Hello Euron.

Cersei lifted her head. Euron Greyjoy had his helmet under his arm, and was smirking at her from the seat of his ride. 

Cersei pursed her lips, made a show of thinking it over.

He was about Jaime’s height, but that was where the resemblance ended. Light brown hair and flat gray eyes. All of his brothers had them too, but on Euron they looked especially, eerily blank. It had always been hard to tell what he was thinking, and Cersei disliked not being able to read her opponent. All the same, she tilted her head and smiled coyly.

“That depends.”

“On what?” Euron grinned broadly as if he had already won.

“You. Do you have a second helmet for that death trap?”

“I suppose we can use protection if you insist,” Euron said, giving the words a lewd spin. He produced a second helmet, offering it just out of reach. Cersei gritted her teeth. She took a firm step forward and snatched it from him, jamming it over her blond tresses.

When she had it set, Euron grabbed her around the waist and lifted her easily onto the motorcycle behind him. 

“Hang on,” Euron warned and then they had taken off, and Cersei was forced to wrap her arms around his waist.

He drove aggressively, cutting between cars and weaving through back alleys. This close, he smelled like the ocean and something faintly rotten. She didn’t need her phone map to know they were not heading toward Westerlands. She tried to quell the uneasy roil in the pit of her stomach.

When he pulled up to Pyke, he swung off and offered her a hand in a mockery of gentility. Cersei took it nonetheless.

“This doesn’t look like the Westerlands,” she tried to sound lightly amused as she dismounted.

“I realized we hadn’t discussed the matter of payment,” Euron quirked an eyebrow.

“Payment?” Cersei played dumb.

“For your ride home,” Euron smirked. “Let’s talk about it over drinks.”

When the heavy door of Pyke slammed shut behind them, Cersei felt a shiver of foreboding. There were men getting off from their jobs at the wharves and the bar was busy, but Euron cleared a table close to the fire with a few words to its occupants. Cersei sat.

“What’s your poison?” Euron asked. Cersei kept her face smoothly indifferent, although she appreciated the phrasing.

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that this bar has a decent Chardonnay?” She sniffed.

“I would stick with the beers. Don’t tell me you’re uncomfortable in a dive bar?” Euron said in a pseudo-concerned tone. Meanwhile his eyes fairly flashed in delight. Cersei wanted to growl.

“Hardly,” she cooed instead. “They’re Robert’s preferred habitat. I’ll have a pilsner.” 

Euron returned with three pints, two for himself and one for Cersei. He drained the first almost in one go, while Cersei took a tiny sip. If he wanted to get wasted, that just made her job easier.

“What else does Robert prefer?” Euron set his drink down, wiping his mouth with his sleeve carelessly. Cersei tried to conceal a twitch of disdain.

“Because I hear he prefers Ironborn. Had a thing with Mhaegan Barra back in December,” Euron leered. “But maybe you already knew that? Didn’t I see you near her house one night?”

“Did you really drag me halfway across the city to discuss my ex?” Cersei rested her chin on her hand. “How frightfully dull.”

“What would you like to discuss? I aim to please,” Euron let his stare rake her body. 

“Why don’t you get yourself another drink,” Cersei suggested, her voice dipping into a purr. “And then I want you to tell me everything about yourself.”

Really, it was almost too easy. Euron had been mildly obsessed with Cersei for years. He practically fell over backwards to accommodate her, and the increasingly large amount of alcohol he was consuming certainly didn’t hurt.

And the sad thing was, it was all so painfully dull. Oh, your daddy loves your brother best? Hey, me and Stannis are starting a club, want to join? That he had a violent and unpredictable temper coupled with a pronounced streak of sadism only further bored her. Gregor Clegane had been carrying her purse since she was five. And Euron Greyjoy was no Gregor Clegane. All the same, she gasped breathily at all his stories, even putting her hand on top of his when he retold the Greyjoy Rebellion from his perspective. His intense dislike for her brother did take her somewhat aback. She made a mental note to do something nice for Thoros Asshai, who had clearly done the world a public service when he took a baseball bat to this menace.

“So do you want to go into the family business?” Cersei asked, swirling the beer that she was still nursing in her cup.

“Pffff, now? That’s Balon’s thing. He can bust his balls growing the company if he wants to. I’m going to travel the world,” Euron leaned forward. “Life has so much more to offer than this King’s Landing high school shit,” his eyes practically glowed, and under the table, he put his hand on Cersei’s knee.

“Balon wants to grow the company?” Cersei said idly, trying to ignore the light pressure on her leg.

“Is growing the company, father does shit,” Euron sneered. “Got some fancy contract with the mayor.”

“Oh?” Cersei said mildly, to conceal a flash of interest. It could have been a figure of speech. But still. Not the government. The mayor. 

“Guess what he’s shipping?” Euron grinned, and not even the feeling of his hand running up under the hem of her dress could conceal the frisson of excitement. If he felt her shiver, let him think it was lust.

“What?” Cersei leaned forward in spite of herself.

“Wildfire,” Euron breathed, his eyes burning and his fingers hot on her thigh.

Cersei wet her lips, not even as a seduction tactic, just because her mouth had gone so dry.

“He thinks he’s being so smart, got everything under wraps,” Euron chuckled. “Fucker even keeps the ledgers at the house so nobody will find out.”

Cersei had been considering drugging Euron there and then. Her recorder had caught the entire conversation. But what did a junior in high school know about illegal shipping? Would this conversation even be admissible as evidence? A ledger though… 

“Speaking of your house,” Cersei forced herself to smile, forced herself to ignore the fingers teasingly tracing the edge of her thong. “Perhaps we should take this party somewhere more… private?”

The Greyjoy house was naturally on the water, a hideous and dilapidated structure that looked like it had been built by successive generations of the family, each content to slap their entirely different personal styles on top of one another. It looked like one good storm would send the entire thing crashing into the harbor below, and it was with vague unease that Cersei swung off the motorcycle.

“Isn’t that the door?” Cersei cocked her head when Euron ignored the flat stone path up the hill toward what looked like the monstrosity’s main entrance.

“If you want to sit in the parlor, sure,” Euron grinned, and led her down to the water’s edge along a plank board path. It was quite dark and he had to take her hand, but based on the sureness of his steps, he had done this many times. They came to a sliding door of glass, heavily rusted at the base. With a grunt, Euron pried it open.

“After you,” he bowed. Cersei swept in, wondering how she was ever going to pick her way across that deck thing later.

The room they had entered was wallpapered with maps, a few with pushpins and notes. There was an old wooden table and chair that looked scavenged from a boat, making the laptop on top of the table all the more incongruous. An overlarge bed had been wedged into one side of the room, taking up fully a third of the square footage. It wasn’t until she saw the display of weapons in a glass case on the far end that she realized this was Euron’s bedroom. 

Even as that unpleasant epiphany was popping into her brain, Euron had pushed her against the wall, one hand winding in her hair and tugging it sharply, even as the other rested on her neck. He kissed her then, and his mouth tasted overwhelmingly of stale beer and his tongue was practically half way down her throat. There was a small part of her far in the back of her brain, the part that knew she wasn’t as tough or as experienced as she pretended to be, that screamed.

The larger part of her brain only gritted her teeth and turned her face away, breaking the kiss.

“Aren’t you going to offer a girl a drink?” She said coyly as the hand on her neck for a moment tightened.

Euron stared at her, gray eyes blank again, as opaque as the ocean around King’s Landing in winter. Then he dropped his hands and shrugged, an easy smile appearing.

“Whatever you like,” he said. “There’s a fridge next to the bureau.”

Cersei opened the fridge and knelt by it, using her shoulders to block the view of what she was doing. She grabbed two beers at random, popped one and fumbled the baggie out of her purse, trying to dump the contents into the painfully small opening of the can.

“Where are your brothers?” She asked casually, to distract from the fact that she was lingering, using her finger to clean off the top of the can.

“Around probably, it’s a big house,” Euron’s voice came from the bed. Cersei had replaced the baggie in her purse and was using her pinkie to stir the liquid and make the powder dissolve.

“Why? Are you worried they’ll hear you scream?” Euron drawled. Cersei stood, carrying both drinks. She handed him his and sat next to him on the bed.

“You think highly of yourself, lover,” Cersei couldn’t help some scorn from creeping into her voice. If anything Euron only looked more pleased.

“Cheers to proving you wrong,” Euron clinked their cans and then drained his in one go. Cersei looked at him hopefully. He seemed completely unaffected.

“Now where were we,” he rumbled, leaning toward her. Cersei realized desperate measures were called for. She knocked back her own beer, and tossed the can on the floor.

“You were there,” she pushed him in the chest so he was lying on his back. 

“And I was here,” she straddled him. Euron was watching her hungrily. Idly wishing she were wearing more layers, she lifted her dress over her head in one smooth motion. Euron’s hands were sliding up her sides almost immediately, fumbling with her bra clasp and pawing at her breasts. Oberyn you shit if this doesn’t work I’m going to kill you, she thought, as the bra fell away.

“Gods you were made for me,” Euron was working his belt off.

“Allow me,” Cersei gave her ditzy schoolgirl giggle. She unbuckled it as slowly as she dared, a strategy that backfired when Euron got bored and pounced, grabbing her wrists in a crushing grip.

“Let me help you with that,” he crooned, pulling the belt loose with his free hand and wrapping it around her wrists. 

“I would think you’d want my hands free,” Cersei said drily, brain working desperately.

“I think I want you like this,” Euron smirked, tightening the belt another notch, her hands forced together on mockery of a prayer. He pulled her back and looped her hands above and behind her around the bedpost.

“Much better,” he flicked out his butterfly knife. “Now don’t move.”

Before Cersei had time to fully panic, he’d cut her thong off, and the knife had disappeared again. Not that she shouldn’t still be panicking, that small voice in the back of her head was keening.

Euron spread her legs roughly, and then stopped.

Cersei blinked. He’d pressed a hand to his head, and then sat down heavily. She withdrew her legs under her as best she could, clamping them together. The next time he tried that, he was getting kicked in the face, she told herself.

“Should’ve eaten something,” he muttered, almost to himself. Cersei held her breath. Then he gave her a smile.

“Don’t worry, you’re on the menu.”

He crawled back over to her and grabbed an ankle. The other foot shot out and nailed him in the shoulder.

“Feisty,” Euron grinned unperturbed as he caught it, and licked a long trail up her calf. “I imagined you would be.”

And then he paused again, his grip loosening, his head dropping slightly. 

“You should get some water,” Cersei managed. “You’re not looking so hot.”

“Maybe,” Euron mumbled, looking from her to the bathroom. Finally he stood. He took a step or two, then staggered and fell with a crash. 

Cersei stared at the crumpled heap for a moment, and then disentangled her arms from the bedpost with a shudder. She grabbed a corner of the sheet beneath her and scrubbed furiously at her calf. Then she looked at the belt around her wrists. She would need to cut it off, that’s all there was to it, she told herself in a firm no-nonsense voice. And as it happened, she knew exactly who had a knife.

She clambered off the bed and walked over to where Euron was lying in a crumpled heap. He was still breathing, which she supposed was for the best since he probably had her DNA all over him. She rolled him over with her foot, and crouched down, wiggling her clasped hands into his pocket until they closed around the blade. She removed it and managed to clumsily flick it open before bracing it between her feet, serrated edge up. Then she began the laborious process of sawing through the leather. 

The real question, she supposed, as she moved her wrists up and down, up and down, against the knife, was whether she was still going for the ledger. No small part of her wanted to make a run for it, put as much distance between her and this disgusting dreg of humanity as possible, and then take a long, very hot shower until she could no longer feel his fingers and his tongue on her.

But if she did that, this entire horrible ordeal would be for nothing. At that thought, the strap gave way. Cersei glanced at the butchered belt in her hands and then glanced at Euron’s unconscious body.

Perhaps ten minutes later, she had succeeded in winding the fragments around his neck and back around the bedpost. She stripped his jeans and briefs, not bothering with his shirt, and then folded his limp hand around his still hard cock. She put her bra and sundress back on, stuffed Euron’s knife and the remains of her thong in her purse and pulled out her phone. A few photos of Euron’s new-found auto-erotic asphyxiation hobby later, she was prepared to search for the ledger. A little insurance never hurt. She idly wondered which of his brothers would find him.

One ear cocked, she moved uneasily through the house. Despite what Euron had suggested, it didn’t sound like anyone was home. 

A ledger would be in either a study or Balon’s bedroom. She found a sitting room, then a kitchen, what looked like a guest room, and then nearly walked in on Victorian and Aeron playing some kind of video game in almost complete silence. Only a sudden whoop from Victarion caught her from swinging the door open. She hastily backtracked and went the opposite direction. Finally, she found a study. 

Cersei rifled through the pages on the desk, which did at least seem to be about shipping concerns. Then she went through the drawers. It was at the back of the file cabinet that she hit jackpot, a bulky red leather binder filled with handwritten notations that she recognized as Balon’s spidery scrawl.

She popped it out onto the desk. There were hundreds of pages, but she only photographed the last year’s worth on her phone. She couldn’t make heads or tails of them, but hopefully Stannis or his Flea Bottom friend would be better versed in whatever strange shorthand Balon was using. She carefully replaced the ledger, and hurried back to where she remembered seeing the front door. 

She opened it and slipped out, only to nearly trip over the man of the hour, who was smoking on the front door step. Did nobody in this family make any noise?! She could hear Jaime and Tyrion halfway across the house, a fact which had always annoyed her but was clearly preferable to the alternative.

In the gloom of the darkness, the embers at the end of Balon’s cigarette were the only light, glowing brighter when he inhaled, and casting the somber planes of his sun-browned skin and stringy dark hair into shadow.

“Cersei,” Balon tilted his head, stubbing out the cigarette. Now there was no light at all. “Unexpected.”

If he was surprised, there was no trace of it in his monotone grunt. Whereas Euron’s baseline was disconcertingly self-assured, Balon’s was just... flat. 

“Is it?” Cersei said with a light laugh. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked bluntly, completely unimpressed with her nonchalance. Well the best lies were mostly truths.

“I had a date with your brother. He brought me back but I’m afraid he had a little too much to drink.”

There was a long pause while Balon considered this.

“You should stay away from Euron,” he said finally. “He’s not right in the head.”

Whereas you are a fucking Boy Scout, Cersei mentally snorted. 

“See you around,” she smiled sweetly instead.

“I hope not,” Balon grunted, shoving his hands deeper in his pockets.

As Cersei walked off into the night, she could feel his eyes boring into her back.


	100. Stannis (Rains of Castamere 4 of 10)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 100 people, this is not a drill! It’s completely surreal to me that I didn’t end up abandoning this fic in a word doc somewhere like every single one of my other fics and a huge part has been not wanting to let my readers down! Thank you so much to everyone who has dropped a line—I want to do a giant roundup of everyone who left more than five reviews for chapter 115, but for now a special thanks to my Chapter 75-99 reviewers: MogIsMyCatsName, MetaCapricorn, SydneyLouWho, J, TeamGwenee, Gaminach, ImberReader, Yokotoyama, Wylie, William, VickyPerkins, FireintheTwilight, Meta, youthwillnotendure, theworldunseen, HuntingViolets, Anastasiabeaverhousen, Alsosprachvelociraptor, DKNC, aliengirlscout, seamscribe, ahh (and first time reviewers who dropped comments on earlier chapters TerribleandRed, Birdy, and . )!

From a completely neutral and unbiased perspective, Stannis didn’t even understand why Jaime Lannister was allowed to come. He understood why Jorah was there—that was obvious, he was the only one that could possibly get them in front of Jeor Mormont. He understood why Cersei was there—she had recorded the conversation with Euron and could testify to its veracity along with the photos of the ledger. He understood why he was there—he was the only person who could decipher what Balon Greyjoy’s illegible chicken-scratch meant in terms of importation of wildfire. (Which frankly, once you got past the terrible handwriting was basic math and common sense. Didn’t anyone understand the fundamental economics of the shipping industry?) He even understood why Robert was there. It had been Robert’s stupid idea, after all, one of his strange fever dreams percolated from a diet of comic books and one too many concussions. Only, the more they had dug, the more Stannis had started to suspect it wasn’t stupid at all.

According to Balon’s records (which were perfectly logical if near-unreadable), the sheer quantity of wildfire that had been illegally imported into the city in the last year was staggering. What’s more, the volume had been dramatically accelerating since November. What could anyone possibly be doing with all of that wildfire?

It was unfortunate that the record ended after the wildfire moved off the docks. Where could it possibly be stored? What could anyone be doing with so much of a famously dangerous incendiary? It was also unfortunate that the records didn’t necessarily spell out who was placing the order. As far as Stannis could tell, Balon used arbitrary symbols to denote various customers, presumably having committed their identities to memory. But that memory might prove more fulsome with a little police pressure. And if nothing else, Cersei had Euron on tape saying it was the mayor. Although the value and/or veracity of that information was questionable.

So yes, he and Jorah and Cersei had all worked very hard to put together a strong case, and if Robert hadn’t contributed quite as much, he had arguably been the architect of the entire thing. Which begged the question. Why was Jaime Lannister there?! If they absolutely had to have a fifth, Stannis would have picked Beric or Brienne, since both were very good at guilt-tripping people into doing the right thing and had a sort of stolid upstanding-citizen vibe that Jaime Lannister assuredly did not.

Jaime meanwhile had contributed nothing but snide remarks and complaints. Stannis was surprised that he even wanted to come. It was clear that he didn’t believe a word of what they were saying and was only there to make sport. Stannis huffed and slid deeper into his seat.

“Do you have some kind of respiratory ailment?” Jaime leaned around Jorah to ask him.

“He does that when he’s in a snit, it’s very annoying,” Robert called from the front.

“You’re very annoying,” Stannis muttered under his breath for want of a better comeback.

“Now now children,” Cersei crooned from the driver’s seat. “No fighting, we’re already here.”

The five of them piled out of the Range Rover.

“Okay,” Jorah frowned. “I told my dad we were doing a group project on civic institutions, and that we’d chosen the police. So he’s expecting us, but not what we’re about to say.”

“I hope you know this asinine idea is going to get you grounded,” Jaime interjected. “Or do you think he will be pleased that you’re springing murder conspiracies on him?”

Jorah’s lower jaw set stubbornly.

“It’s the right thing to do,” he crossed his arms. Stannis nodded approvingly.

“Let’s go already,” Robert grabbed both Jorah and Stannis in headlocks and began forcibly towing them. Stannis had had a lifetime of practice in evasive maneuvers and managed to escape relatively quickly. Jorah was less fortunate and was escorted all the way into the building before Robert grew bored and released him.

“Hi, I’m here to see Deputy Commissioner Mormont?” Jorah chirped at the front desk.

“This enterprise is doomed to disaster,” Jaime hissed behind him. “Doomed.”

Stannis really really wished Jaime hadn’t come.

They were all escorted into the Deputy Commissioner’s office. Stannis wondered if it was a bad sign that there was a photo of him shaking hands with the mayor on a bookshelf.

“How can I help you kids?” Mormont asked amiably. There was a brief exchange of looks between himself and Cersei as to who would be kicking off and she shrugged to show he might as well.

“We have come to report a crime,” Stannis began firmly.

Mormont’s eyebrows rose and he shot a look at Jorah, who squirmed.

“Please go on,” he said, steepling his fingers.

Stannis took a deep breath.

“We have conclusive evidence that there is an underground smuggling operation almost entirely dedicated to the transportation of wildfire into city limits. In trace quantities over the last year, with a sharp spike starting in November. Further, we believe the architect is someone with a link to the city government, maybe even the mayor himself. AND we have evidence relating to the death of Rhaegar Targaryen. Suggesting that he was the intended victim, that it wasn’t an act of political terrorism at all. We think the police need to reopen that investigation.”

“Oh you think that, do you?” Jeor Mormont asked. His voice was mild, but there was a distinct frostiness that had not been there before. Stannis shot an uncertain look at the rest of the group. Every instinct in his brain screamed to double down and entrench his position. He was right and by a proper marshalling of the facts…

“We’re certainly not trying to step on any toes,” Cersei jumped in, clasping her hands earnestly. Stannis was a bit relieved. His scathing logical analyses rarely proved to be winning arguments, even though they were always the correct arguments. He still wasn’t sure why those wouldn’t be the same.

“It’s just, look if you listen to this voicemail,” she fumbled to get the cell phone out. Rhaegar’s voice echoed through the room once more, tinny and desperate, this thirty-second loop all that remained of a boy that had once been so much larger than life.

“This is useless,” Jeor Mormont said bluntly. “He doesn’t even say that he’s in danger. For all we know, he’s talking about the city’s new immigration policy.”

“But listen to this!” Cersei pulled out the recorder she’d taken on her date with Euron. They heard his voice describing the mayor importing wildfire, practically drooling the words. Stannis noted that Robert shifted uncomfortably during this recording, and he wondered what had actually happened. Cersei hadn’t said much to the group, only shared the recording and the photos in their drop box. Well, she’d also pulled out a knife and tapped it against Oberyn’s sunglasses and told him to sleep with both eyes open. 

Jeor Mormont rubbed his temples exasperatedly.

“Let me get this straight. Your theory is that the MAYOR, who has spent a lifetime in politics cleaning up this city, killed his own son?! And based on what?! The word of some teenage hoodlum?! Does Euron Greyjoy even work for his family’s company? He’s what, seventeen? All I’m hearing is a boy who’s trying to impress a pretty young girl,” the deputy commissioner folded his arms.

Cersei’s face darkened. Clearly being dismissed as a pretty young girl had displeased her.

“Look, importing wildfire is a crime. We have the fucking ledgers that the Greyjoys are doing it,” Robert’s always short temper snapped. “What the fuck is your problem?!”

“My problem is that a gang of high schoolers, including my fourteen year old SON,” this was accompanied by a withering look at Jorah, “have taken it upon themselves to play detective on people involved in organized crime! And before you shout ledgers at me one more time, did it ever occur to you that they might have a license?”

Robert opened his mouth and then shut it.

“I didn’t think so,” Jeor Mormont said coldly. 

“But there was wildfire in that car bomb!” Jorah blurted. “The two have to be linked!” 

“That wasn’t public information,” Jeor stared at him, biting off each word and chewing it slowly. “Are you telling me that you pulled the evidence file for Rhaegar’s death? That you, my son, tampered with evidence, at best a misdemeanor and at worst a felony in our jurisdiction. Do you have any idea what the repercussions of that could be? To you? To your friends? To me?”

Jorah had been getting steadily smaller, almost shrinking into his chair.

“I’m going to forget we ever had this conversation,” Jeor said. “In return, I expect the five of you to do some serious thinking, which you have clearly not done so far in this endeavor. I want you to stay the hell away from the Greyjoys and don’t even so much as sneeze at the mayor. Am I quite clear?”

There were stiff nods all around.

“Get. Out.”

There was a frantic scramble for the door.

“Jorah! You stay. You can officially consider yourself grounded.”

Stannis cast an apologetic look over his shoulder at Jorah who was watching them retreat forlornly. They regrouped in the parking lot outside.

“Well that couldn’t have gone worse,” Robert finally said glumly. “Did he just say the Greyjoys were legally importing wildfire?”

“So all that work, everything we did,” Cersei said with a shudder. “And we still have...”

“Nothing,” Jaime finished. He didn’t sound pleased. Stannis cast him a sidelong look. He had fully expected Jaime to be doing some kind of victory dance. In his experience, nothing made Lannisters happier than being right. And if Jaime could be right at the same time as Robert could be wrong... well he should be dishing out sarcasm by the steaming hot ladleful. Instead, Jaime was frowning.

“When did you say the imports spiked? November?” Jaime asked.

“Um yeah.”

“You didn’t mention that before. When in November was it?”

“The last week maybe?”

“After Homecoming then.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Stannis shrugged. He didn’t live and die by the football calendar like Robert and Jaime did.

“I don’t know what we should do,” Robert said suddenly, returning to the point at hand. He sounded rather surprised and forlorn. “I thought we were really on to something. I still do. But I don’t know where we go from here. Maybe we don’t go anywhere.”

“We brought all the evidence the police could have possibly needed straight to them. It’s not our fault if Jeor Mormont can’t see the truth when it’s staring him in the face,” Cersei crossed her arms. “I’m fed up with the entire thing. Fuck the mayor, fuck the Greyjoys, fuck the police.”

Robert tried to take her hand but she shook him off. He shrugged helplessly.

“Jeor Mormont is an idiot to not believe you, I’m sorry Cers.”

Only that wasn’t quite right, Stannis thought, as they drove back to the house in almost silence. Jeor Mormont hadn’t seemed skeptical so much as… angry? Defensive? Scared? He’d practically threatened them to drop the case or else. And Jeor Mormont was a good cop. Stannis suddenly wondered what would have happened if they’d gone to Owen Merryweather, Aerys Targaryen’s hand-appointed commissioner. 

They pulled into the Baratheon’s house. From upstairs, Stannis caught a glimpse of Melisandre’s red hair in his bedroom window. He felt a fierce relief. Maybe this was dangerous and stupid. Maybe he should just leave everybody he loved out of it. 

It was at that moment, that thought, that he knew Robert had been right. And that whatever remained of Rhaegar Targaryen, even if it was just a ghostly voice on a recorder, trapped in an endlessly repeated thirty second moment somewhere toward the very end of his life, well, that deserved justice. Everyone did.

“It went terribly didn’t it,” Melisandre met him on the stairs, throwing her arms around him. He breathed in deeply, his cheek pressed against her forehead. She was warm and her hair shone like fire in the sun, and he would do anything, absolutely anything to keep her safe. “You all look like you’ve just come from a funeral.”

“It went so terribly,” he said absently, looking at their reflection embracing in the window. What they had was worth protecting. “To tell you the truth, I think we’re bagging the whole thing. Cersei was pretty shaken, Deputy Commissioner Mormont basically laughed in our faces.”

Melisandre’s almond shaped eyes crinkled in unfeigned sympathy.

“Gods people suck,” she scoffed.

“Everybody but us,” he smirked and kissed her. Their reflections kissed too, halfway up the stairs, and in that image of reality, nothing could touch them.


	101. Jaime (Rains of Castamere 5 of 10)

Jaime and Cersei drove home together. Jaime was a little surprised that Cersei didn’t want to stay at the Baratheons, but assumed she was still dealing with whatever had happened with Euron. Every attempt to pry had gotten shut down, so Jaime eventually just let the subject drop.

Now he was wishing she was a little more chatty however, because his thoughts were running down an unpleasant road. Okay, he was clearly the last person to arrive at this party, but Robert was totally right. Robert. Robert Baratheon, a boy who had once consumed almost half of a mud pie before he realized it wasn’t chocolate. Robert Baratheon had stumbled onto some kind of crazy murder conspiracy, and now the question was, what was he, Jaime Lannister, prepared to do about it?

Everybody else could say that they had basically tried. What could he say? That he had sniped and snickered and snored through the last week, and only now, when everyone else had given up, could he say that he was genuinely convinced.

It was so dumb, so stupid, but how had Cersei not noticed? The spike in wildfire was the week after Homecoming. It was the week after Aerys Targaryen and Tywin Lannister had had their huge blowup fight, and Aerys Targaryen had dragged their family’s name through the mud. Their family name might just be the only thing more precious to his father than money. It had been all he had when he starved as a child. 

What had his father said all those months ago? He heard the cool venom in his ear.

“Aerys Targaryen will be repaid. With interest.” A Lannister always pays their debts.

Stannis had even mentioned it when he was explaining Balon’s notes to them. That you couldn’t tell who had been ordering the wildfire, only how much of it. Only Euron Greyjoy had said the mayor, and Euron Greyjoy was a sociopath who lied for sport.

Jaime parked in the garage and sat there, even as his sister swung out and walked inside without a word. 

Would his father have killed the mayor’s son? 

It wasn’t a perfect click, there were pieces that didn’t fit. His father didn’t like chaos, he found it distasteful. And a car bomb? That seemed so messy. And the importation of wildfire hadn’t stopped after Rhaegar’s death, but maybe Tywin hadn’t wanted to raise suspicion. The fact remained that Jaime knew there was only one way to find out.

His father was often at the office, so Jaime walked into his study relatively self-assured. He looked around, taking in the dark wood paneling, the fireplace, the state of the art computer with dual monitors and a crisp pad of legal paper in front of it, antique fountain pen at the ready. It was a combination of old-school tradition and hyper-efficiency, and it occurred to Jaime that it was such bullshit. He wondered how much of his father’s carefully-constructed life was a facade designed to prove to the world that he was more than his own father’s failings. What a sad multi-generational clusterfuck they’d all created, Jaime mused. He wondered what old Tytos’ father had done to him.

His eyes roamed the shelves of the study. It was all bric-a-brac, until he got to a photo of Joanna Lannister in a silver frame. She looked like Cersei, but the photo had caught her mid-laugh, in an easy abandon that Jaime’s carefully controlled sister never had. Nothing like the official family portrait that Tywin kept next to the computer, where all five of them were standing straight and smiling. This then, was the one part of the office that wasn’t bullshit. Jaime wondered what his mother would have made of Brienne. He suspected she would have loved her—loving came easily to Joanna Lannister.

He moved the mouse and the computer came alive. Password protected of course. Jaime looked under the desk for a post-in a sort of dull hopefulness. Nothing. He tried ‘Joanna’. Nothing. His father absolutely believed in sixteen letter strings of gibberish chosen at random and changed once a month. But nobody could memorize those. Somewhere the password was written down. Jaime flipped through the pages of the legal pad. Empty. The two desk drawers were locked. It had to be in one of the desk drawers, and the key was undoubtedly in Tywin’s pocket. But somewhere there was a spare key.

Jaime went over to the photo of his mother and flipped it. No key. Okay maybe that was a little obvious, but his father would have put it somewhere that the maid wouldn’t see. Jaime stared at the bookshelves, the knickknacks. There was a photo in a frame that didn’t fit well. It was of Tywin and his siblings, Kevan, Genna, Tygett and Gerion. It was a completely unremarkable photo—they were cutting a ribbon at some worksite, one of the publicity shots his father had strewn across the house—completely unremarkable aside from the fact that it clearly was too small for the frame.

So whatever photo Tywin had kept there had gotten damaged or the person was no longer in Tywin’s good graces or maybe he had just gotten bored of staring at the fucking thing. But he had kept the frame in the same spot. Jaime walked over and hefted it. Gilded gold, heavy, ornamental, his father’s usual taste. Pretty deep though. He opened the latch that kept the photo in place. A key fell out.

Slowest Lannister indeed! Maybe Cersei was right, this detective stuff wasn’t so bad.

Jaime popped the key into the first desk drawer, and there stuck to the side, was a post-it with a string of gibberish. He typed that in, and the computer lock-screen gave way to an endless series of spreadsheets.

Jaime suddenly wished that Brienne or Cersei were here. Hells, he would even take Stannis. Anybody who could make heads or tales of this.

What exactly was he looking for? A polite typed confession, saved as “I Killed Rhaegar.docx”?

Lannister Corp was a public company. If Tywin was doing deals with the Greyjoys, they would be off book. Jaime pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the numbers and letters to make sense. Being dyslexic really sucked sometimes.

Okay, so large cash withdrawals from personal accounts? Jaime checked his, Cersei’s and Tyrion’s bank statements. Nothing. 

He opened the first of his father’s bank statements and began to leaf through them. Had anything happened in November? 

It took a while to go through all of the statements, and longer to print out the documents he wanted. But when he did, Jaime had been fairly sure he had it. No evidence of wildfire, but a fairly enormous increase in the amount of property insurance that Tywin had been paying for. 

Property insurance? What did that have to do with anything?

All the same, he printed out the pages. He quit out of the computer and took another quick look through the drawer to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. 

There was a battered photo that had been bent in half, and the only reason that Jaime gave it a second look was because it appeared to be a photo of Robert. He pulled it out and unfolded it. For a weird jarring moment, it looked like a photo of Robert, Rhaegar and himself. A photo that had never been.

But then his brain kicked in and caught all the tiny details that were out of place. How photo-Jaime was skinnier with pinched features. How photo-Rhaegar’s eyes were darker, his hair longer, than Rhaegar had ever worn it. All three of them were wearing shirts that were painfully seventies. The three boys in the photo weren’t Jaime, Rhaegar and Robert at all. They were Tywin, Aerys and Steffon.

Gods Steffon looked like Robert at that age. It was uncanny. Jaime wondered if that had been why Tywin had taken Robert to the hospital all those months ago, in a highly uncharacteristic act of charity. It must have been like seeing a ghost from his past. He inspected the photo closer, Steffon with his arm slung over Tywin’s shoulder, giving the camera Robert’s big shit-eating grin. Tywin was nearly overwhelmed by his larger friend, blue-green eyes squinting at the camera. (Cersei, Jaime and Tyrion had all gotten their mother’s green as green can be eyes. Lannister green, Aunt Genna had whispered to them fondly, lest Tywin hear that he had fallen short of the platonic ideal of Lannister.) All the same, one side of his mouth was crooked upwards in what was unmistakably a small smile. Jaime wondered if that was why Tywin had gotten rid of this photo—there was no doubt in his mind that this was the photo that belonged to the golden frame—gods forbid there be photographic evidence of Tywin smiling at anything other than his wife.

Then Jaime’s gaze drifted to the third face, that of Aerys Targaryen. And instinctively, Jaime just knew that Aerys was the reason Tywin had crumpled the photo into a drawer where he would never need to see it. Aerys Targaryen was strikingly handsome, and from the cool smirk that he was giving the camera, he clearly knew it. Rhaegar had been striking too, but his looks had been far gentler, almost faded—Aerys was angular lines and the harsh contrast between his silver hair and dark violet eyes. His hair was pulled into a low ponytail, looking like he had wandered out of the eighteenth century. He was not hanging off Steffon or Tywin, standing more composed to the side, but from the angle of their bodies, they were both looking at him.

“What are you looking at?” Tywin Lannister abruptly asked from the doorway.

Jaime blinked up at him, completely caught red-handed. How had he managed to sneak up on him?!

Tywin crossed the study briskly and took the photo from Jaime’s hands.

“I was using your printer, sorry. I saw the photo, thought it was me and Robert for a second,” Jaime mumbled.

Tywin looked at the photo impassively. 

“He takes after his father. You I would have said take more after your mother. But I can see how in this picture, there might be a certain resemblance,” Tywin said finally. He didn’t sound suspicious. Maybe a little sad.

“I thought the Baratheons were Mom’s friends,” Jaime said abruptly. Perhaps because the idea of Tywin having friends at all was so jarring. All the same, he had been smiling at the camera. His father who never smiled at all.

“Everyone was your mother’s friend. But she met them through me. Steffon and I had been friends since grade school.”

Jaime noted the distinct past tense in that phrasing. 

“What happened?”

Tywin glanced dismissively at the photo.

“Aerys and Steffon had a falling out. Steffon didn’t agree with some of Aery’s decisions politically. They were both stubborn, both had a him or me approach to life.”

“You had to choose,” Jaime summed up. Tywin shrugged in assent.

Jaime looked down at the photo again. Happy-go-lucky Steffon who traveled the world with his beautiful wife and threw lavish parties and seemed utterly devoid of responsibility. Ambitious Aerys who had been mayor for... how long? Fifteen years at least?

“Did you choose right?” Jaime asked.

“Based on the information in my possession I made the sensible decision,” Tywin said. And Jaime knew that was as close as Tywin would get to admitting that he had chosen wrong.

Jaime felt a disconcerting wave of pity for his father. He had never considered the idea that Tywin might be lonely. His father was essentially a robot who had learned the power of hate.

“Maybe you can be friends again now that you and Aerys are on the outs,” Jaime offered half-heartedly.

Tywin looked up, eyes sharpening.

“I don’t forgive the people who cross me. You’d do well to remember that Jaime, you’ll live longer.”

Tywin tore the photo neatly into quarters and dropped it into the trash.

Jaime thought about that later as he called Stannis.

“Property insurance?” If Stannis was surprised that Jaime was calling him, he didn’t show it.

“But I don’t know what that has to do with anything,” Jaime admitted.

“Maybe he’s going for an insurance scam? Use the wildfire to burn down his property?” 

Jaime considered. That sounded at least plausible. 

“Look, it’s worth checking out at least,” Stannis said determinedly. “We can go on Saturday to one of the properties Tywin jacked the policy up for—I mean I can go. You don’t have to.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Jaime scoffed. “Of course I’m going.” He wouldn’t be much of a hero if he didn’t.


	102. Beric (Rains of Castamere 6 of 10)

“And now the rains weep o’er their halls, AND NO-ONE LEFT TO HEAR!” Thoros belted the last refrain off-key, shooting a grin at Beric. Beric knew Thoros was trying to get him to crack and admit that wasting their Saturday on an eight hour road trip with a broken radio was a terrible idea. But Thoros underestimated first the level of guilt Beric felt about not having made this trip sooner and second how cute he was when he was trying to be annoying.

“Do you know any songs that aren’t drinking songs?” Beric asked casually as he signaled a lane change and carefully checked his blind spot over his shoulder before sliding in. Thoros smiled hopefully.

“Are you saying you want me to stop singing and that we should turn around?”

“I love your singing,” Beric corrected with a smirk. “Just thought you might have a broader selection.”

“Well I don’t,” Thoros stuck out his tongue. “And now I’m not singing at all.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Beric hiding a smile, since he was positive Thoros would break first.

“I’m so bored,” Thoros groaned after a beat, proving Beric correct. “There’s nothing to do.”

“We could talk?” Beric offered, trying to be helpful.

“For eight hours?” Thoros looked skeptical.

“Well yeah,” Beric scratched his head sheepishly.

“Okay, what do you want to talk about?” 

“I dunno, you pick something.”

“Do you want to hear a fable of Azhor Azhai?”

“Does it end with Azhor Azhai killing someone?”

“All the good ones do.”

“Can I request a story with a happy ending?”

“How about a story about Homeless Harry and the guy who got him kicked out of Lys?”

“Does it end with Harry killing someone?”

“You don’t like my drinking songs, you don’t like my stories,” Thoros teased. “I told you we should have pushed back our road trip until the radio was fixed.”

“You just said that because you don’t like Jon Connington,” Beric rolled his eyes.

“You don’t even like him! And you were the one sleeping with him!”

“Well since Lyanna can’t remember anything, he’s by far our best shot at figuring out what Rhaegar was up to when he died.”

“And it has nothing to do with the fact that he’s probably devastated and just the knowledge that someone out there might be having a bad day is unbearable for you,” Thoros stretched.

“I think checking on him is—“

“the right thing to do,” Thoros finished drily. Beric huffed.

“Well shall we go over the plan at least?”

“You’re going to find their room and drag Jon out of whatever cocoon of depression and self-pity he’s constructed—“

“I’m going to text Jon that I’m in Sunspear with my boyfriend on a college tour and does he want to get a drink and catch up. You will be on said college tour—“

Thoros gave a groan.

“And when it’s over, you can break into their dorm room and search it for clues. Meanwhile I will be discretely making inquires about his recollections of how Rhaegar was spending his December.”

“I’ve identified a flaw in your plan,” Thoros informed him.

“Oh?” Beric arched an eyebrow skeptically.

“It doesn’t actually require me to show up for this college tour,” Thoros grinned. “Once you’re with Jon, I can just pop off to his room, no being dragged around campus by a chipper freshman required.”

Beric bit his tongue. This entire topic seemed perilously fraught after all they’d been through. He loved Thoros and would love him whether he went to college or not. But it seemed to him that Thoros was rejecting something out of hand that might be more doable than he thought. His grades were... well they weren’t great, but they’d been steadily improving. A good standardized test tutor (and Beric thought he was a pretty good tutor thank you), and he would come across as a bright if STEM oriented student whose early years of constantly moving had taken their toll on his freshman and sophomore GPA. 

Sunspear might be a reach school, but some phone calls to the right people... Not to mention that Thoros qualified for just about every need-based scholarship on the planet and could have his pick of personal essay topics. The Time I Got Kidnapped By a Cult. The Time I Saved a Child And Also My Boyfriend’s Life. The Time I Beat Up My Sister’s Attacker with a Baseball Bat... well, maybe not that one.

That Thoros didn’t seem to see it that way troubled him. Because he had a sneaking suspicion that Thoros felt like he wasn’t smart enough for college and that was such bullshit and Beric didn’t know how to make him see that without feeling like Beric was shoving college down his throat.

It was all driving Beric just a little bit crazy. All Beric could do was make the choice as easy as possible. He had signed Thoros up for the Sunspear campus tour since they were going anyway, and maybe Thoros, by himself and on his own terms, could decide that college was a worthwhile endeavor that wasn’t as out of reach as he thought. He suddenly flashed on his mother leaving those pamphlets by his chair on the breakfast table. Oh gods. Was he turning into his mother?!

“You’re right,” Beric said quickly. “There’s no reason for you to go on the tour if you don’t want to go. I’m sorry I signed you up.”

Thoros shot him a sidelong look.

“Stop being so sensitive and understanding. I wasn’t fishing for an apology, I was fishing for… motivation,” he said with a smirk, and Beric tried not to swerve the car into the next lane as he felt his boyfriend’s hand where it really shouldn’t be while driving.

“We are still six hours away,” Beric managed to say firmly, his voice only hitching once or twice. 

“So it’ll be quick? That’s okay, you do your best work under a deadline.”

“There’s not even anywhere to pull over!” Beric pushed him off.

Thoros pouted, Beric ignored him, and they passed the next twenty minutes in companionable silence.

“I thought it was cute that you signed me up for the college tour,” Thoros said abruptly and a little shyly. “I’m not used to people doing things like that for me.”

“I don’t want to pressure you into anything. I just think you’re a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for,” Beric mumbled, blushing. Thoros leaned his head on Beric’s shoulder.

“Even if I could somehow get into Sunspear, that’s a long way from the Citadel.”

“We don’t even know if I’m getting into the Citadel,” Beric objected. 

“I do,” Thoros said easily.

“And loads of people date long distance. I would make it work,” Beric riposted.

“Who said anything about you?”

“What?” Beric gave him a mock glare.

“I’m just saying, Elia Martell already got her Sunspear acceptance letter.”

“Your obsession with her is very weird and you’re going to get a black eye if you carry on like that,” Beric rolled his eye.

“From you? Pfff I taught you everything you know about fighting,” Thoros gave him a cheeky smile.

“Not from me, from Arthur Dayne. He’s the size of Robert Baratheon and is on the national fencing team.”

“Ugh fine. See this is just further proof that Sunspear isn’t the right place for me.”

And Beric didn’t say anything, because Sunspear not being the right place was different from college being a waste of time, and he didn’t want to break the spell.

Unfortunately, Thoros’ college tour guide had no same compunction.

“Welcome to Sunspear, home of the Vipers! Can I get a ‘Go Dorne!’?” The rosy cheeked girl cupped her ear with an enthusiastic, almost manic smile.

“Go. Dorne.” Thoros growled through gritted teeth. Beric winced, and wondered if he should warn the guide that Thoros wasn’t much for organized sports.

“I can’t hear you!” The girl announced in a sing-song voice. On second thought, it was probably better just to leave.

Finding where Jon Connington lived was as simple as stopping by the Second Sons’ frat house and chatting with some of the brothers. From there, he found a pleasant enough sandstone house with terracotta tiles on a palm tree lined boulevard.

He rang the doorbell. No answer. Hrmmmm. If Jon wasn’t there, that would certainly make it easier to go through his things. On the other hand, Beric was positive that Jon would be able to recall Rhaegar’s last days in perfect detail. And fine Thoros, he did kind of want to check in on the guy. He pulled out his phone. On the third ring, Jon picked up.

“Hello?” He sounded groggy and out of it.

“Hi Jon, it’s Beric. Are you home?”

“I’m in Sunspear, classes don’t finish for another two weeks,” Jon corrected him, sounding a little annoyed. His intense prickliness when he was in a bad mood was something Beric certainly didn’t miss.

“Right, home in Sunspear?” Beric kept his voice calm.

“Yes. You woke me up.”

Beric looked at his watch. Four in the afternoon.

“So surprise, I’m outside your door?”

There was a long pause.

“You get dumped or something?”

“Nope. Still very happy. But I thought I would check on you while Thoros was doing his college tour.”

Another long pause.

“Give me a second to get out of bed, I’ll let you in.”

It was at least twenty minutes before the sound of the lock clicked and the door swung open. Beric remembered how embarrassed he’d been of his appearance the last time they had run into each other, before Homecoming. Now, he felt positively overdressed. Jon’s normally perfectly groomed beard was long and haggard. He was wearing sweatpants and a shirt that smelled like it hadn’t been washed in at least a week.

“Come in,” Jon said in a grudging voice. The downstairs was completely dark.

“Why don’t I get some of these curtains open,” Beric said brightly.

“If you like,” Jon shrugged. Or Beric assumed he shrugged. He couldn’t really tell in the dark.

The curtains revealed a pile of old pizza boxes in the kitchen area, and beer bottles and empty glasses on the coffee table. Beric removed a glass and winced at the ring it left on the light wood.

“How have classes been?” He asked cautiously.

“Wouldn’t know. I dropped out.”

Beric tried to put the glass in the dishwasher to avoid responding, only to discover that the dishwasher was full. He put it in the sink instead.

Sophomore year when they were dating, Beric would have fled the scene by now. But he had grown as a person in the last two years, and dealt with plenty of his own shit.

“Put on some jeans and a clean shirt. You are taking me to your favorite wine bar and we are going to figure out what you do next.”

Another half an hour later, Jon at least looked presentable, sitting sullenly on the other side of the table from him.

“I just, everything reminds me of him,” he looked down into his glass of Merlot. “I can’t go anywhere around here without seeing his favorite restaurant or remembering some class we took together or hearing some song on the radio that he was learning to play on his harp. I’m going mad.”

“Maybe you should go somewhere new,” Beric said quietly. “What about Essos? I went to Myr over spring break and it was really… interesting. And you have family in Pentos right? Just somewhere you can get a fresh start?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Jon gave a half-hearted nod.

“I think you should,” Beric said firmly, not wanting to let the matter drop. “I think it would be really good for you to get away from Rhaegar. Even if it’s only his memory.”

There was a pause while they both sipped their wine. Beric wondered what they had talked about when they were dating.

“So your boyfriend changed his mind about college?” Jon offered finally.

“He’s figuring it out,” Beric gave Jon a tentative smile. 

“That’s good. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like, if I’d ever…told Rhaegar,” Jon admitted. “There was just never a time when he wasn’t seeing somebody. It felt so unfair to do that to him.”

This seemed like as good of a segue as any.

“What was Rhaegar up to in December anyway? Spending most of his time with Lyanna?” Beric tried to sound casual, while being painfully aware of what a strange line of questioning this was from him. Fortunately, Rhaegar had always been Jon’s favorite subject, and he need little prodding.

“Not even,” Jon scoffed. “He was working on some secret research project. That’s what people never understood about Rhaegar. He was brilliant. Completely brilliant. And he cared about people. This thing he was working on—something really shady in his dad’s administration. He thought his father might even get impeached when it came out.”

“He was going to whistleblow to the press on his own father?” Beric asked. That sounded dangerous. 

“Not to the press. To the police,” Jon leaned forward. “He had it all figured out—he wouldn’t tell me much, but he said his father had gone completely off the deep end. Paranoid that he had enemies everywhere. And he had some kind of crazy plan to take them all out.”

“His father,” Beric repeated slowly. “Not just someone in his administration?”

“Yeah.”

“His father, the mayor, was planning to kill a bunch of people?!” Beric raised his eyebrow. That sounded hardly plausible.

Jon stiffened. “Rhaegar never said the plan was going to work. Just that his father had really lost it and people might get hurt as a result. But everybody was too scared to do anything.”

“And then Rhaegar died,” Beric frowned.

“Yeah,” Jon drained his glass moodily. “Then he died.”

Beric walked Jon back to his apartment. It was almost seven, which should have been plenty of time for Thoros to look through Rhaegar’s room.

“Thanks,” Jon said, looking Beric straight in the face and seeming for the first time like his old self. “I think maybe you’re right. About getting away from Westeros for a while. To hell with King’s Landing, it’s a rotten mess.”

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Beric managed. Jon gave him a stiff, slightly awkward hug. Beric, who hadn’t been expecting it, had gone rigid but forced himself to relax slightly.

“You’re a good friend, Beric. I hope Thoros is your Rhaegar.”

“No,” Beric shook his head. “He’s much better.”

Thoros had already checked into the motel, and was sprawled snoozing on top of the covers when Beric let himself in. He supposed they had gotten off to a rather early start, and Thoros found displays of school spirit particularly draining.

With a mischievous smile, he shrugged out of his shirt and jeans and crawled on top of the bed next to Thoros and kissed him awake, one hand reaching down to grab him like Thoros had done in the car.

“Did you still need persuading?” Beric whispered as Thoros’ hips jerked at the friction.

“Oof, hang on,” Thoros laughed, trying to get out from under him. Beric relented and rolled on to his back, watching as Thoros slid off the bed entirely and returned with a giant roll of paper.

“I’m still the only one naked,” Beric pointed out. 

“Shhh, this is more important,” Thoros scolded gently.

“More important than sex?” Beric gave him his best puppy dog expression.

Thoros ignored him and unrolled the first sheet. They were survey maps, showing the plats of King’s Landing unless Beric badly missed his mark.

“Rhaegar had maps of King’s Landing in his room?” Beric sat up, frowning.

“And look at the shading—look at the labels.”

“Initial burn zone,” Beric read, tracing a long snaking line of red through the heart of the city.

“That would take out the police station, the Sept of Baelor, Flea Bottom, half of the Westerlands… and look at this,” Thoros pulled out the next sheet. Beric whistled. It was a map of the city sewer system.

“I think we found where they’re keeping the wildfire,” Thoros said grimly. “We need to call the others.”

“Jon said…” Beric swallowed. “Jon said that Rhaegar was investigating his father. That he was going to turn him into the police. That Aerys Targaryen had gone crazy and people were in danger.”

Thoros was already dialing his sister. Beric just hoped it wasn’t too late.


	103. Jaim/Mel (Burn Them All 7 of 10)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I do a fake arc title to try and obscure the actual villain? ...Maybe?

“I’m not even sure what we’re looking for,” Jaime admitted as he let Stannis into yet another of Lannister Corp’s vacated buildings. It was like their manhunt for Gregor Clegane, only instead of Clegane, they were hunting... what, exactly?

“Barrels of wildfire, I guess,” Stannis shrugged. Jaime wished he sounded a little less flippant.

“I hardly think my father is stockpiling wildfire literally on his property where any employee with an access key might stumble across it,” Jaime snarked.

 Really, he was frustrated. Who in their right mind would sacrifice a beautiful spring Saturday to go traipsing through empty office buildings with Stannis Baratheon? And even if they did discover some monster horde of wildfire, Robert would still somehow get all of the credit despite currently sitting on his ass throwing a pool party.

A pool party that Jaime was missing to play chauffeur to stick-in-the-mud Stannis. His phone buzzed.

_Just got here, where are you?_

Brienne was at the pool party and he was here. 

_Tyrion’s feeling under the weather, don’t know if I’m making it out :(_

If there was any bright side to Robert giving up, it was that Brienne was no longer involved.

They were exploring the basement now, his phone casting its weak beam of light hither and thither. Seriously, he was getting Gregor Clegane vibes, even though last he’d heard, the guy had gotten five to ten in prison.

“What is that smell?” Stannis asked with a suspicious look at him.

“Whoever smelt it dealt it,” Jaime responded blithely, then his own nose wrinkled as it hit him. “Ugh that’s definitely the sewer.”

One of the many projects Lannister Corp had undertaken in its decades-long relationship with the city had been an overhaul of their antiquated sewer system, said to be a holdover from when dragons roamed the earth. Jaime vividly recalled when Tywin had forced all three of them to take company internships one summer two years earlier. Only Cersei enjoyed it—Tyrion might have enjoyed it had he not been assigned to the sewer renovations for his entire three-month stint. Only his father would find that an appropriate project for a ten-year-old.“King’s Landing has the most modern system of tunnels in the country. It was built by Lannister Corp and now run by a staff of highly trained municipal employees,” Jaime rattled off dully.“It smells like it’s leaking,” Stannis grunted, pinching his nose and eyeing Jaime balefully as if this were somehow his fault.

“First, it’s a below ground system of interlocking tunnels. It wouldn’t be leaking because that would literally defy gravity. It would be backed up. Second, we’re probably just close to one of the entrances. When my father constructed the system, he put a bunch of the access points on Lannister property so that the city would have to keep paying us rent for the privilege.”

Stannis blinked at him.

“So you’re saying that your father has access to a cavernous system of tunnels that extend throughout the city that nobody would ever go into unless they had a very good reason?”

Jaime opened his mouth. And then shut it.

“We have to go down there, don’t we?” He asked finally.

Stannis nodded stoically.

“Crap.”

So there were of course movies where the plucky hero crawls through sewage. But usually he’s crawling to escape something. Like in Shawshank Redemption. Or It. Not just sort of experimentally wading through it to see if anything interesting turns up.

Fortunately, most of the larger tunnels had raised pathways along the side for employees to pass unhindered. Unfortunately, Stannis insisted on checking the smaller tunnels too.

“Crap,” Jaime said again, this time as more of a warning as he edged around a suspicious brown floater.

“This is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever done,” Stannis announced.

“Didn’t you bang Selyse Florent?”

“…This is why you don’t have friends.”

“I have friends,” Jaime muttered mutinously under his breath. “Brienne’s my friend. Addam’s my friend. Tyrion’s my—”

“Stop,” Stannis said from behind him.

“Okay fine, we won’t count siblings but that means you don’t get to count Robert and Renly.”

“What?! No, stop walking! I see something!”

Jaime stopped. Stannis was pointing to yet another tunnel, this one both smaller and deeper than their current route.

“I don’t see anything,” Jaime said sulkily. And then he squinted and had to admit that wasn’t exactly correct. There was something bulky floating in the water.

“I will need to burn these clothes,” Jaime groaned as he proceeded to change course.

“If your father sets fire to the entire city, you may get your wish,” Stannis sniped, a pace ahead of him. They got within arm’s reach of the object—it was a barrel, oddly floating neither with nor against the slight current.”

“It’s been chained to the bottom,” Stannis pulled up a link or two with a grimace. “I think there’s other barrels below our feet.”

“But wildfire floats,” Jaime said stupidly, staring at the barrel. It was one thing to concoct this madcap conspiracy, another thing to follow a lead to its logical end, but to be staring proof in the face?

“Not if it’s been weighed down. Hidden below the surface in rarely used tunnels. Nobody would ever find it unless they knew where to look. And when it was ready for use…”

“Wildfire floats. They could pull up the chains and have sewage flambé,” Jaime continued grimly. “A contained space, once it had eaten up the oxygen here…”

“Massive explosions along the entire sewer system, and uncontrollable fires at ground zero,” Stannis finished. 

Jaime staggered over to the side of the tunnel and leaned against it, feeling the cold of the stones seeping into his bones. His father was a psychopath. Not a cruel and hateful old man who had internalized his childhood deprivations into some kind of workaholism, but a literal psychopath. This wasn’t about some stupid property insurance scheme. This was about revenge, pure and simple. Aerys Targaryen had struck at his company, so Tywin Lannister had murdered his son and was prepared to burn his city to the ground.

Stannis had taken a few photos of the barrel, and then set to work prying off the lid.

“What are you doing?!” Jaime hissed. “Are you mad?!”

“We need to photograph the contents. As long as there’s no incendiary spark we should be safe,” Stannis called over his shoulder.

“What is your grand plan here?! Take it to Jeor Mormont and get us thrown in prison for tampering with evidence, or whatever he was yelling about last time?”

“The police have already demonstrated their unwillingness to help,” Stannis scoffed. “Think. Who in this city has the power to act unilaterally and knows what Tywin Lannister is capable of?”

Jaime swallowed.

“You want to tell Aerys Targaryen.”

~~~~

Melisandre was not sulking. She just thought it was very selfish of Stannis to not go to a pool party at his own house. She tidied up her half of the bedroom that she and Thoros had claimed at the Dondarrions with brisk efficiency. 

She and Thoros had shared a bedroom at various points in their nomadic life. They had agreed that taking both of the Dondarrions’ guest bedrooms was excessive, especially given the fact that Melisandre at least would be here for another two years. So they had done the only sensible thing, and put a line of masking tape through the precise center of the room. Only the couch, their one shared possession, sat on top of it.

As a practical matter, Thoros spent most nights sleeping in Beric’s bed anyway. And would absolutely be getting his own place as soon as he graduated and could work full time. Melisandre kicked a dirty pink sock back over the line. 

It was just, with Thoros and Beric off in Dorne, and Davos off with Marya and Stannis doing whatever the heck Stannis was doing, she was really at loose ends.

Normally, she would have called the temple and seen if there were any shifts that needed to be picked up at one of the soup kitchens or the secondhand supply store. Maybe she would have gone to evening prayers. Maybe she would have just lit a night fire and tried to see something worth seeing.

Melisandre hugged her knees. So she felt a little sad and off-kilter and like some fundamental cornerstone of her life had disappeared. That didn’t mean she was sulking.

“Melisandre, are you cleaning again?” Beric’s mother knocked on the door. “I told you, the housekeeper will take care of that on Monday. Why don’t you go over to the Baratheons’, Cassana said Robert is having all of his little friends over.”

Also living with an adult that kept checking in on you all the time and wanting to know where you were going and if that dress was appropriate for school and whether you were eating enough was an adjustment.

“I don’t feel like it,” Melisandre mumbled.

The door opened a crack. 

“You’d rather clean? Ugh I hate cleaning. Why don’t you come downstairs and help me bake some cookies?” Ceylena said hopefully, all bright flowered apron and cute but sensible dress and sunny smile. Beric had clearly gotten the worst parts of her.

“Fine,” Melisandre huffed.

Helping Ceylena Dondarrion bake cookies mostly consisted of licking the spatula as she thumbed through fashion magazines while Ceylena chatted away and some cooking show prattled in the background.

“This is so nice,” Ceylena dusted the flour off her hands. “Don’t tell Beric but I always wanted a daughter. Tried for ages after him. Poor dear was meant to be an only child though.”

“Hmmm,” Melisandre said uncertainly. 

“I worry that it was hard on him growing up. Nobody his own age to relate to. He was always very shy, struggled to make friends. Until your brother anyway,” Ceylena smiled at her.

Yep, Thoros befriends exclusively weirdos, Melisandre mentally snorted. But she kept her mouth shut because Mrs. Dondarrion meant very well in her own way.

“That’s a nice skirt,” Ceylena commented off-hand, looking over her shoulder at the spread Melisandre had been eyeing. “It would go very well with your hair.”

Melisandre glanced down at the flowy looking skirt, a pretty dark purple. Not red, she wanted to say, although it was very nice.

“Tell you what,” Ceylena beamed. “Why don’t we make a deal? You bring these cookies over to Cassana Baratheon’s house and I’ll get you that skirt?”

Melisandre narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t stupid. This was obviously a bribe to get outside of the house and be social. But the cookies did smell really good. And why shouldn’t she have some item of clothing in her wardrobe that was emphatically not temple-approved? It wasn’t like she was temple-approved. Not anymore.

Besides, thought Melisandre, chewing a cookie, the rest of the platter balanced precariously on one hand as she walked along the beach. It’s not like she had to stay forever. Just long enough to technically fulfill her bargain with Mrs. Dondarrion. And at the rate these cookies were disappearing—she took another one—that would be no time at all.

The party was going in full swing, but there was nary a Stannis nor Davos in sight. Melisandre felt an unwelcome twinge of nerves, which was completely foolish. She didn’t care about any of these people. So what if she had nobody to talk to.

“Hi Melisandre,” tow-headed Brienne Tarth said brightly. The sudden surge of relief that Melisandre felt suggested that maybe she did care just a little bit.

“Hi Brienne,” Melisandre smiled.

“I really like your bikini,” Brienne said shyly. It was the one that she had worn to the lake with Stannis and Davos and Melisandre favored Brienne with an approving smile.

“Your swimsuit is nice too,” she said, even if she thought it much too frumpy for someone with Brienne’s fantastically long legs.

“You don’t need to pretend, Renly’s already told me to burn it,” Brienne blushed. Privately, Melisandre thought the swimsuit unworthy of the cleansing power of fire.

“Renly’s idea of fashion came from old movies and reality television,” Melisandre rolled her eyes instead. Brienne laughed and Melisandre felt a little flush of pride that Brienne had thought her funny.

“Do you want a cookie?” Melisandre proffered the half-empty tray.

“I really shouldn’t,” Brienne bit her lip.

“In my experience,” Melisandre drawled, taking another just to make her feel more comfortable, “the things we shouldn’t do are the most fun.” Brienne caved and helped herself to one as well.

“These are delicious,” she said enthusiastically. “Did you make them?”

Melisandre considered the question. That spatula certainly hadn’t cleaned itself.

“I assisted,” she said serenely. “Where’s Jaime?”

“No idea,” Brienne looked down. “He said that he was watching Tyrion, but Cersei hasn’t been coming to any of Robert’s parties since they broke up in the cafeteria. So if Tyrion actually needed to be watched, she could have done it. I think Jaime just didn’t want to come to the party.”

“That’s odd,” Melisandre frowned. “Stannis said he wasn’t going to the party either. And the Saab’s not in their garage.”

“To tell you the truth,” Brienne admitted, “Jaime’s been acting kind of odd since Wednesday, when they came back from the police station.”

Melisandre and Brienne looked at each other.

“Morons,” Melisandre sighed. Brienne didn’t look like she disagreed.

Stannis, when he finally picked up the phone sounded a little distracted.

“Mel, hey, it’s not the best time,” he opened.

“Oh,” she purred, voice syrupy sweet. “Are you and Jaime very busy?”

“Super busy, I can call you back—how’d you know I was with Jaime?” He suddenly asked suspiciously.

“Game over,” Melisandre growled. “I can’t believe you guys are sneaking around investigating Rhaegar’s death behind our backs!”

“Okay I was definitely going to tell you, but it’s fine, everything’s under control.”

“What is under control exactly?”

“Jaime got the mayor’s cell number from his dad’s backup drive and we’re meeting now. Tywin Lannister’s the one who’s been stockpiling wildfire. He’s stashing it in the sewer system and he’s going to use it to blow up half the city!”

Melisandre stared at the phone.

“Stannis,” she said, patience fraying. “That REALLY doesn’t sound under control.”

“No, the mayor is actually taking us seriously! Well he made us talk to some aide first, but he’s about to meet with us. Nobody’s in any danger, it’s fine.”

Because screaming into the phone was generally not what mature adults did, Melisandre calmly hung up.

“What’s going on?” Brienne demanded, the moment she was off the phone. Melisandre opened her mouth to tell her that they were dating complete imbeciles, quite possibly the two most ridiculous boys in the entire universe, when the phone rang. Melisandre glanced at the screen. It was the actual two most ridiculous boys in the universe.

“Hi Thoros,” she said with a sigh.

“We’ve made a huge break in the case,” Thoros said abruptly. “We figured out where the wildfire is being stashed! It’s in the...”

“Sewer system?” Melisandre asked, taking some grim pleasure in deflating his urgency.

“Wait what? How did you know that?!”

“Dunno, Stannis and Jaime figured it out somehow, they’ve run off to tell the mayor.”

“Wait WHAT?! That’s the last person they should tell!”

“What?” Now it was Melisandre’s turn to be confused.

“Melisandre, it’s Beric speaking—“ Melisandre mentally rolled her eyes, she knew what his voice sounded like, they were dealing with the apocalypse and he was obeying the rules of phone etiquette, but then Beric kept talking and a cold dread settled deep in Melisandre’s bones.

She hung up for the second time, mouth dry.

“Was that them again? What’s happening?” Brienne pressed, round face pinched with worry.

“That was Thoros and Beric,” Melisandre managed. She looked Brienne dead in the eyes. Unpleasant truths were best delivered without beating around the bush. “I think Stannis and Jaime are in trouble.”

Brienne met her gaze evenly.

“Then I guess we’d better go save them.”


	104. Stannis (Burn Them All 8 of 10)

“Please put your cell phones in this basket,” the man, Rossert, who had introduced himself as the mayor’s chief of staff, asked. 

Stannis obeyed with alacrity. Jaime, naturally, had to be a little more of a pain in the ass about it.

“Why?” He asked. “What if we get a call?”

Even as he said that, Stannis’ phone began buzzing from the basket. It was Melisandre again, but when he reached for it, Rossert only pulled it away.

“The mayor apologizes for the inconvenience. I’m sure you can appreciate, after the death of his son, that the mayor has begun taking certain precautions. Cell phones in the basket. You will need to pass through that screening device as well.”

Jaime grunted but tossed his phone in the basket as well. 

They were shuffled through the screening procedure and then ushered into the mayor’s office, a stunningly beautiful modern space with floor to ceiling windows that offered vistas of the entire city.

The mayor had been looking out, but on hearing their entrance turned with a smile. 

It was electric, and even though Stannis knew his father didn’t approve of Aerys Targaryen at all, he felt the intensity of his personal charisma like a magnetic force.

“Boys!” Aerys clapped Stannis on the back and shook Jaime’s hand warmly, even though Stannis was sure he hadn’t seen either since the Lannister holiday party two years ago.

“It’s been too long! Dear gods, you look more like your fathers every day!”

Factually incorrect. Robert looked more like their father every day. Stannis looked more like... well no relative that he could identify. All the same he felt a flush of pleasure.

“Now how can I help you?” Aerys smiled, opened his hands and with the entire city behind them it felt like all of King’s Landing could be theirs if they only asked.

“We told your aide a little bit, but we um, actually came to talk about Rhaegar,” Stannis began cautiously, a little gun-shy after Jeor Mormont had near bitten his head off.

At that, Aerys’ dazzling smile faded somewhat. It was difficult to pinpoint what changed exactly. Only that without the smile, Aerys’ features were markedly cold and a little off-putting. There was a slight yellowness to his skin that made Stannis wonder if he was eating a balanced diet—or eating much at all, Stannis amended, taking in the sharp cheekbones and the hollow eyes.

Any warmth that remained was in those eyes. They glowed fever bright, and Stannis found himself trying to swallow, mouth dry.

“Rhaegar,” Aerys said softly. “My son, Rhaegar. They killed him you know.”

“They?” Jaime leaned forward frowning. This was the first word he had contributed since they walked into the office and Stannis was slightly relieved for the backup.

“My enemies,” Aerys said matter of factly. “As surely as if they had put a bullet in his brain.”

Jaime and Stannis exchanged a glance. Technically true perhaps, but everything felt off-kilter. Still, Stannis squared his shoulders, they had come too far to turn back now.

“We think he was killed on the orders of Tywin Lannister,” Stannis said bluntly.

There was a silence then, the mayor looking at him with his head tilted, Jaime standing pale beside him.

“We can’t talk about this here,” Aerys Targaryen finally said. “Come with me.”

He strode over to one end of his office and opened what appeared to be a closet door.

“This is a direct stairwell to the garage. My house has the highest levels of security in King’s Landing. What we are about to discuss can’t be overheard by anyone.”

He gave them both an approving look, and Stannis felt the dizzying wave of pride again, the stupid absurd desire that this adult, nearly a complete stranger, like him.

“I think you’ve been very brave in coming to me boys. I want you to know that I take this completely seriously,” Aerys said.

Stannis was already halfway to the stairwell, and Jaime not far behind.

“What about... our phones?” Jaime asked, furrowing his brow as if he had to concentrate to even voice an objection. Aerys gave Stannis a look as if to ask if Jaime were always so difficult and Stannis gave him a look back that said yes, always.

“I’ll have Rossert bring them, don’t worry, he’s used to me popping out of the office. If I go this way, none of the paparazzi can catch me playing hooky,” Aerys gave them a charmingly conspiratorial grin.

He ushered them down a narrow staircase that did in fact lead directly to a small garage. 

They piled into a Bentley with blacked out windows, Stannis and Jaime instinctively taking the back seats. Aerys cast a glance back at them.

“I’ll have Rossert erase your names from the visitor’s log before he drops off your phones. Nobody can know you’re working on the case, it’s far too dangerous.”

“Are other people working on the case?” Stannis asked frowning. 

“Oh yes,” Aerys nodded as they pulled out down the road. “Myself and a select few counselors. We can’t trust the police you see. Much too corrupt. The police have always been my enemies.”

“We went to Jeor Mormont and he didn’t believe us,” Stannis admitted dully. He had always thought so highly of Jeor Mormont. 

“Jeor Mormont has always hated me. Ever since that business at Duskendale, I’ve been surrounded by enemies,” Aerys muttered. He turned his head again to look at them. “Did you tell anyone else? Did anybody help you figure all this out?”

Stannis wasn’t sure why he lied. It just sort of popped out of his mouth. He never lied.

“Nope, just the two of us,” he said. Then he immediately felt embarrassed, especially when Jaime knew that was such a bald-faced untruth. But Jaime didn’t correct him.

“Good, good,” Aerys said absently. The rest of the drive to his mansion was quiet, each person lost in their own thoughts.

What had possessed him to lie to the first person who believed in them? More than believed, was actually trying to help them? He would set the record straight later, Stannis decided, once they had exposed the murder and the coverup in the press and he knew everybody was safe. Give everybody else all of the credit in the world.

The car purred through the gates at the mayor’s mansion.

Stannis had never been here. It had been constructed by city funds, and had been scandalously expensive at the time, but Aerys Targaryen had just stormed into power and was cleaning up the city and nobody could refuse him anything. Now twenty years later, the enormous white structure (allegedly modeled after Versailles in Lys) felt like it had always been here.

“I sent Rhaella away, too dangerous,” Aerys told them matter-of-factly. “She and the children and a nanny. A nice hotel on the ocean in Volantis.”

“That’s nice,” Stannis said awkwardly. 

“So we’re the only people here?” Jaime asked, again appearing oddly unhappy. Stannis supposed unmasking your father as a psychopathic murderer would put anyone in a bad mood.

“Dismissed the staff ages ago,” Aerys tapped his nose. “Colluding with the tabloids, always selling their little stories to the highest bidder. Dreadful people, the press.”

“But we’ll have to tell them about Rhaegar to expose the police coverup and get at the truth!” Stannis interjected, feeling a little dismayed. Was there anyone Aerys didn’t dislike? He wasn’t sure when the planned release of the wildfire was, but it had to be relatively soon. The longer the wildfire was sitting there, the higher the increase of an accidental detonation and the entire plan going up (literally) in flames. They needed to enlist major manpower and fast to clear the sewers.

Aerys had led them to a study. It was all tasteful elegance, but strangely devoid of personality. Except for the harp in the corner.

“The truth, absolutely, absolutely,” Aerys agreed, but without any real enthusiasm. He looked at them again. “You’re good boys. I can see that.” Dark violet eyes staring at them, almost haunted. Stannis wished he would smile again, turn on whatever politician charm he seemed to keep on a switch.

“Rhaegar was a good boy,” Aerys said abruptly. “That’s his harp. Look at it. I still keep it here in the study to remind me. He was always a good boy.”

He shooed them closer to the harp, further away from the door, which he kicked shut. There was a sound of an automatic lock ka-chunking into place.

“That’s why I never understood,” Aerys shook his head. “Why he didn’t come to me with his suspicions. I would have explained.”

Stannis edged closer to the harp, looking at it to give himself an excuse not to look Aerys Targaryen in the face. There was something off about this, some piece that wasn’t quite clicking.

“My enemies got to him,” Aerys hissed suddenly, with such venom that Stannis swallowed. He wasn’t sure the mayor was entirely right in the head. Grief over his dead son perhaps? “They got in his mind, they twisted him, they turned him against me. I warned him, I told him never to betray me.”

Stannis looked up. The mayor was standing by the fireplace, absently turning it on and watching the kindling catch. It was one of those gas jobs, not the real thing. It’s May, Stannis wanted to protest. But the flames were already licking upwards, a ghostly blue that gave way to fiery orange.

“That’s why I had to do it, you see,” Aerys said, a little sadly. 

“Do what?” Stannis asked stupidly. Next to him, Jaime had a sharp intake of breath and was grabbing his arm, fingers digging into the flesh.

“That’s why I had to kill Rhaegar,” Aerys answered simply.

For a long time nobody said anything. Aerys was looking at them and the harp. Stannis was very aware of Jaime’s grip on his arm, but otherwise felt quite numb.

Aerys? Aerys had killed his own son?

“But… but Tywin Lannister…” Stannis finally began. Aerys looked at him, arched a single silver eyebrow. 

“He does make a good villain doesn’t he?” Aerys said casually. “He was quite upset with my plan to take out Jeor Mormont. The man had the gall to open a case against us, and Tywin said we could beat him in court. Bah!” He spat violently into the fire and the flames hissed. “Who would dare judge a dragon?! No, I choose trial by combat. And my champion is fire,” Aerys gave them both an ugly grin, malicious and more than a little unhinged. “And Tywin… he called me crazy. I warned him just like I warned Rhaegar. I told him if he abandoned me now he could burn with the rest of my enemies.”

“He increased the property insurance on all of his buildings in November,” Jaime said suddenly.

“Thought I was going to torch him out. The man never had any vision,” Aerys snorted. “Why kill one wasp when you can smoke out an entire nest? Police headquarters, Jeor Mormont and all of his piddly little boxes of evidence and applications for warrants. The Westerlands. Tywin’s godawful mansion and every last Lannister toehold. And of course Flea Bottom. The most densely populated environ in King’s Landing. It’ll be the most deadly fire since dragons flew. A tragedy, a terrible tragedy. And all because Tywin Lannister wanted to make a few bucks on property insurance. It’ll seem like divine justice that he died in the fire. Struck down by the Father himself the septons will say.”

“You can’t possibly expect to get away with this,” Stannis said slowly as his brain scrambled through the twisted logic of Aerys’ rant like a rat trapped in a maze. “There’s too many loose ends.”

“And they all lead back to Tywin Lannister,” Aerys smirked. “The sewers? Lannister-built. The property insurance? Even Flea Bottom. I’ll bet you didn’t know your father has been buying up land there. Wants to be a slum-lord, I suppose. But just think how much money he would stand to make if he could rezone after some kind of natural disaster.”

Stannis looked at Jaime briefly as Aerys said that. His eyes glazed over in mute horror. All this time they had thought Tywin was the mastermind, and he was in just as much danger as the rest of them. More even.

“But those aren’t the only loose ends, are they?” Aerys scratched his chin thoughtfully. He had weirdly long fingernails. Why hadn’t Stannis noticed that before?

“I really wish you had pieced this together later. It’s going to speed up our entire timetable. Rossert thinks it’s doable of course, but one likes to be certain. All the same…” Aerys trailed off, wide violet eyes fixed on them. “It feels like fate doesn’t it?”

“Fate?” Stannis managed.

“It was always the three of us. Me and Tywin and Steffon. Always. And we each had three children. You know there’s something almost powerful about the number three. Three children, three sacrifices.”

He pulled out a gun from his perfectly tailored suit. Stannis felt his windpipe begin to close up. Strange, the gun was so tiny. He supposed Aerys hadn’t wanted to ruin the lines of his jacket.

“You don’t have to do this,” Jaime was saying.

“I had to kill my son because he found out, was going to betray me. And now I have to kill Tywin’s son and Steffon’s son. There’s a symmetry to that isn’t there? It’s a little odd. Almost occult.”

Nobody had seen them leave the mayor’s office. Hadn’t he even said Rossert was erasing the record that they had ever been there? Nobody knew where they were.

“And it’s one more loose end that leads back to Tywin. If it’s any consolation, I’ll make sure you go down as heroes. The plucky youngsters who tried to confront him and were gunned down for their pains. There’ll be an official day of mourning. Maybe we’ll have a statue made. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

They were going to disappear and the last thing he had said to Melisandre was that it was Tywin Lannister’s fault. Aerys was right, he supposed. One more loose end that led back to Tywin. At least… at least he’d kept her out of trouble this time. Wherever she was, it was somewhere safe. Somewhere far away.

“Only now that it’s the big day, so to speak, I find I rather miss him. Strange. I suppose I just want someone to appreciate my genius,” Aerys laughed to himself. “Tell you what, Jaime,” he smirked. “Why don’t we give him a call? It’s far too late to stop me. And I rather think I want his dying thought to be the knowledge that his son is dying too.”

Jaime’s grip on Stannis’ arm tightened, and Stannis realized his hand was shaking.

“Come along, move towards the door. Stannis you stand right there near the harp, we don’t need you for this part,” Aerys gestured with the gun. Jaime appeared incapable of letting Stannis’ arm go.

“It’s going to be okay,” Stannis said, as he eased Jaime’s scarred fingers off one by one. Jaime looked at him, green eyes dull. Stannis was lying and Jaime knew he was lying. But he let Stannis turn him loose anyway. And then shuffled toward the door.

“Now Stannis, I’m afraid I don’t really need you at all,” Aerys began. Stannis threw himself to the left but there was an impossibly loud crack and then the wind knocked out of him and he was on the floor and his entire right side felt like it was on fire. Excruciating, unimaginable pain washed over him in waves. His entire consciousness reduced to the agony short-circuiting his brain, the hot wet feeling of his own blood.

“If you see Rhaegar, give him my love,” Aerys said from somewhere very far away.


	105. Bri/Mel (Burn Them All 9 of 10)

Of all the chowder-headed nincompoops! Brienne could just throttle that blond idiot, she really could. And then she could just kiss him senseless because if she were throttling him, he would be safe with her and not in the hands of a crazed soon-to-be mass murderer who had executed his son in cold blood.

She frantically looked around the crowd. Who could she tell? She wished she could find Cersei. Only ever since Cersei had fake broken up with Robert, she hadn’t been coming to his parties, so who knew where she was. Cersei would have known what to do. She would snap two perfectly manicured fingers and a SWAT team in helicopters would be converging on the mayor and Jaime would be fine. But Jaime didn’t have Cersei. He had her.

“Addam!” She shouted. The senior looked at her blankly. “Jaime’s in trouble, I need somebody to call the police while I go after him.”

“Where is he?” Addam asked. He sounded a little too casual for Brienne’s taste but at least he was listening, so she pressed on.

“He’s with the mayor, I’m not sure where but Melisandre thinks the mayor’s mansion is the only place they could go...” Brienne trailed off as she realized he was smirking unphased.

“Trying to get me to sick the police on the mayor? He’s ridiculous. I’m surprised Jaime managed to put you up to this though.”

Brienne bit her tongue to keep from screaming at him. She had to go to somebody who already knew the whole situation, she realized. 

“Mace!” She saw him and tried to get through the people between her and him, but when she got to the place he had been standing, he was gone.

“Guess he didn’t want to be trampled by that buffalo,” someone snickered. A year ago, that would have devastated her. Some part of her flinched even now. But the larger part of her looked over her shoulder and gave the speaker a long cool look, until the guy blushed and looked away.

Oberyn and Ellaria were entwined on a deck chair, and not even Brienne hissing ‘Oberyn!’ repeatedly could make him come up for air. Although it did attract Ellaria’s attention and she patted the deck chair next to them invitingly. 

Brienne was beginning to feel like she and Melisandre were going to have to split up and she was going to have to go to the police and then what if Melisandre had to save Stannis or Jaime, obviously she would choose Stannis and how could Brienne leave Jaime’s fate in the hands of anyone who wouldn’t literally die for him.

That was when she saw Robert doing a keg stand. In a completely ridiculous stunt, he was holding himself in a handstand on top of the keg, his shirt having fallen down around his neck, the tap clenched in his teeth as people chanted the count.

“Robert!” Brienne, pushed through the crowd. They were chanting “Seven! Seven! Seven!”, and Brienne felt a surge of irritation for her peers. She was trying to save their lives and they couldn’t even move out of the way.

“Robert!” She shouted again when she was finally in front of him. He looked at her. Or she thought he was looking at her. It was hard to tell since he was upside down in a handstand and chugging beer directly from a metal barrel.

“Jaime and Stannis are in trouble! You were right, Rhaegar WAS murdered and it was his father but Jaime thought it was HIS father and went to tell Aerys and now I think he’s in terrible danger and nobody will believe me,” Brienne blurted, feeling with some panic that she might be on the verge of tears.

Robert tipped backwards and landed on his feet, spitting out the tap. Brienne held her breath. He blinked for a second, looking dazed, as everyone around them cheered. Then his eyes settled on her and narrowed. 

“Stannis is in trouble?” Robert asked. Brienne never thought she would be so relieved to say yes.

She extracted from him a promise to involve the police and a secondary backup promise to enlist someone more reliable than himself to help with involving the police. 

Brienne found Melisandre on the phone again.

“Thanks Jorah, gotta go,” she said when she saw Brienne hurrying toward her.

“Did you find out anything?” Brienne asked. 

“I called Thoros back who told me that Jorah has been making some money babysitting for the Targaryens. So I called Jorah. He has a key to get through the front gate. He can’t leave the house because he’s grounded and doesn’t have a car right now but he’ll give the key to us if we meet him at his front door.”

“Won’t the staff just stop us as soon as they see we’re not employees or guests of the mayor?” Brienne frowned. Melisandre shook her head.

“Jorah says the mayor fired all of his household staff a couple months ago. And Rhaenys and the children were sent out of town unexpectedly last week.”

“He must have them in the house,” Brienne growled. “C’mon, let’s get over to the Mormonts.”

They pushed through the crowd again, dodging pool goers at a light jog. Melisandre stopped to snag the empty cookie tray she’d brought over. Forced to pause, Brienne raised an eyebrow. Melisandre pursed her lips, an expression Brienne realized that she occasionally did when she was embarrassed.

“I don’t want to lose any of the Dondarrions’ stuff,” she admitted. Brienne thought she didn’t like the Dondarrions. Oh well, no time to puzzle that out. They scrambled through the house and popped out by the garage, Melisandre panting slightly behind her.

Naturally her car was blocked in by about fifty others. Brienne almost cried.

“Just cut across the lawn,” Melisandre said. “It’s an emergency.”

Well, they were in a race to save the world. Feeling like she was in an action movie, Brienne carefully pulled out onto the grass and they began to slowly bump along parallel to the driveway.

“This is like Fast & Furious,” Brienne whispered.

“You’re going fifteen miles an hour,” Melisandre crossed her arms. A bit rich coming from the girl who had stopped to retrieve tableware.

“Do you want to drive?” Brienne asked politely as they slowly navigated another bump.

“...I don’t have my license,” Melisandre admitted.

Fortunately once they were on the actual road, things proceeded faster. Brienne daringly pushed the care up to twenty miles over the speed limit, and Melisandre must have been impressed because she didn’t say a word.

Jorah was literally waiting for them on his front porch. They didn’t even have to stop the car—they pulled up, Melisandre rolled down her window, Jorah tossed the keys in and then they were off again.

“So what’s our plan?” Melisandre asked. Brienne felt a twinge of surprise that Melisandre thought she had a plan. But the other girl looked at her like of course she had a plan and they couldn’t rescue the boys without a plan, so she just had to make a plan. That’s all there was to it.

“I say we try to keep a low profile. The police should be, what, half an hour behind us? Assuming they’re not in danger, all we need to do is monitor the situation until they show up.”

“And what if... what if they are in danger?” Melisandre swallowed nervously.

Brienne realized that Melisandre was scared. Melisandre who seduced boys in the middle of the night and knew how to wear kinky sex outfits and confronted Gregor Clegane and Victorian Greyjoy with the same haughty disdain. Melisandre was scared and she was expecting Brienne to be brave enough for the both of them. That was a terrifying thought.

“We will do whatever we can,” Brienne said firmly, trying to quell the bubble of panic in her chest. “We have the element of surprise after all.”

~~~~

Melisandre felt like she might throw up. Perhaps this was why people didn’t eat half a dozen cookies before they tried to save the world. Stannis was in trouble. Her Stannis, her somber serious Stannis who was upright and good and decent in a world that was shitty and disappointing. And the worst part was, she didn’t know what to do to get him back. With Thoros, it had been clear. Burn the temple, burn your parents and the apartment and the community and every bit of a financial safety net you have ever been given and you’ll get your brother back. It had been a painful trade, it had hurt to cut loose so much of what she was, but she had never doubted the end result, that she would get him back. But now?

Her mind was completely blank. Just the road ahead of them. The road to the mayor’s mansion. Nothing. Not even the flicker of an idea. She felt a flash of anger. What had they done to deserve this? Stannis had been trying to save lives for fuck’s safe. What kind of god let somebody like that suffer? What was the point of going to temple every day and setting all those fires and wearing all that fucking red if you could still lose the person most important person in your life? Maybe this was the wrong time to be having a crisis of faith and she currently had a lot more confidence in Brienne Tarth than the Lord of Light.

They pulled up to the front gate. The security camera stared at them, but the light that should have showed it was working was missing. Just an empty eye, staring sightlessly forward. Melisandre swiped Jorah’s passkey, and with a hum, the gates opened. Brienne drove up the driveway. Neither of them spoke.

It was an eery place. Having now seen the Baratheons’ and the Lannisters’, Melisandre should be used to wide lawns and over-the-top architecture. But clearly the gardeners had been fired along with everyone else, because the grass was overgrown and wild. There were marble statues lining the drive, but someone had gone through and methodically broken them off at knees. Recently too, because the shards were everywhere amongst the tangle of green. The shards and the poor torso-less stumps of legs. 

Brienne instinctively pulled around the side, to what must be some kind of servant quarters. She parked behind that house, not visible from the main driveway, and then they crept toward the side door.

“Do we knock?” Brienne muttered, and Melisandre giggled, a tad hysterically. Why stop with knocking? Why not ring the doorbell? Hello, we’re here with Girl Scout troop number forty eight, and we’ve come to get our hostage negotiating badge. Now back away from the wildfire and nobody needs to get hurt. She realized she was still giggling and put her hand over her mouth to stop shaking. 

Brienne used the keys to unlock the door and they slipped hesitantly inside. The rich tapestries and thick carpets absorbed the sound of the door closing, but even without that added protection, Melisandre sensed the house was empty. Had they guessed wrong? Come all this way to be told their princess was in another castle?

“We can search the rooms at least,” Brienne whispered, and even that small sound had almost disappeared by the time it had reached Melisandre. There was something stale about the air, as if the windows hadn’t been opened in a long time.

They crept from room to room. One was a nursery, another clearly a small child’s. In both the sheets had been left unmade, toys scattered on the floor, as if the occupants had left in such a rush that there had been no time for tidying. It gave the curious impression that the inhabitants would return shortly, which in turn made Melisandre uneasy. She didn’t linger there.

One room at the far western end of the house had clearly been Rhaegar Targaryen’s. She didn’t need the framed photo of him and Lyanna Stark to guess that. The decor spoke of someone closer to her own age, albeit far fonder of books than she had ever been. And unlike the rooms on the ground floor, everything here was painstakingly clean, eerily pristine. As if the occupant would be gone a long time. An eternity even.

Melisandre was trudging toward the master bedroom, silently cursing these wasted minutes, when she heard the sound of gravel crunching, a car approaching from outside. Immediately she abandoned her pursuit and nearly collided with Brienne on the landing of the second floor.

“He’s coming!” Brienne hissed. “We have to hide!”

“But how will we know if he has them?” Melisandre frowned in indecision.

Brienne bit her lip, and then any choice they might have made was taken from them for the front door below opened and as one they crouched to avoid being seen.

“I sent Rhaella away, too dangerous,” Aerys was saying. “She and the children and a nanny. A nice hotel on the ocean in Volantis.”

The mayor’s voice was like mercury, too quick to change and more than a little poisonous. But as he passed below, she saw them. Jaime’s blond head tilted a little quizzically, and Stannis, dark crown bent to the task at hand.

Then they disappeared into a room with a click, and Melisandre shuddered to hold in a sob and Brienne grabbed her hand in mute support. It had been the study, she had poked her head in earlier.

Brienne was tapping something on her phone.

“Robert and Ned are with the police,” Brienne murmured, “they know Aerys has Jaime and Stannis and they’re on their way.”

Melisandre nodded to show she understood, which she did conceptually, but how did it help Stannis, locked in a room with a madman, and how did it help her, locked on the other side.

“I think when I looked in the drawing room, I saw a side door. It might connect to the study,” Brienne said as if she were reading Melisandre’s mind. Melisandre could not recall seeing such a door, but she was willing to grasp at any hope, no matter how fragile.

They crept down the stairway, flinching at each creak. The drone of the voice in the study continued unabated. Cautiously they edged by the door, Melisandre straining to hear Stannis’ voice, but she heard nothing except the clear cold tenor of Aerys Targaryen.

Brienne went in the drawing room first, Melisandre trailing behind, barely daring to look. And then when she finally lifted her eyes, she saw Brienne gesturing at a Yi Ti screen painting that concealed the far corner of the room. Her heart lurched. She hadn’t looked behind it. Could it be? There was a small, utterly unremarkable door on the other side. Brienne tried the handle just the smallest bit, and it gave. It was unlocked.

They glanced at each other and in silent agreement crouched by the door, their ears pressed against the thin wood.

Melisandre could only hear snatches, this far from where Aerys was speaking. 

“Why kill one wasp when you can smoke out an entire nest? ….dragons… A tragedy, a terrible tragedy. And all because Tywin… divine justice that he died in the fire.”

And then a gunshot. Years later, she would still swear she felt it, somewhere between her collarbone and her shoulder. But maybe it was just the noice, that unmistakeable crack and then the thud, and her eyes meeting Brienne’s eyes. They heard the door open then, Aerys shuffling in the hall. 

Melisandre opened the door as quickly as she dared, and there was Stannis lying on the ground by the doors to the veranda, a red smear showing where he had fallen against the glass and then slid down.

“Stannis!” She was at his side in an instant, Lord of Light he was so pale. His eyes had been closed, but at her voice they fluttered.

“Mel?” He asked, slowly, thickly.

“It’s me, shhh, you’re okay,” she tried to hush him, tried to ignore the darkening stain against his shirt.

“He… has Jaime…” Stannis forced the words out. His skin had taken on a blueish pallor. “Help him,” the last was almost a gasp.

“I’m going after them, Stannis, the police are coming, you need to hold on,” Brienne said, looking scared and determined and Melisandre wanted to tell her not to go. 

“I’ll be here,” she said instead.

And then Brienne was gone, and Melisandre was swallowing and trying to remember what she had been taught in her emergency responder class. Pressure on the wound, get it above the heart… She pulled him half into her lap, and tore her sweater off. She folded it into halves, then quarters, then pushed it down over the wound site. 

Stannis moaned at the pressure, and Melisandre kissed his forehead.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, his voice so faint she wasn’t even sure she heard it.

“Never,” she kissed his lips then, cold against her own, and she willed some spark of her own warmth to transfer into them. 

How long would this take? There was no exit wound, the bullet was still somewhere inside him. It could have ricocheted inside his chest, he could have internal bleeding, he could be dying in her arms.

“It hurts,” Stannis finally mumbled after a long pause.

“Shhh, don’t move,” she said into his sweat drenched hair. “I’ll tell you a story.” She cast through her mind blankly, thoughts slipping from her grasp as from a sieve, helpless against the ashen face of the boy she loved.

“Once upon a time,” Stannis said, and then stopped.

“Hmmm?” Melisandre leaned closer, not even sure she’d heard the words.

“All good stories,” he began and then had to stop to take another ragged breath. “Once upon a time.”

“Once upon a time,” she started, her mind horrifyingly blank. But then the words came. “Once upon a time, darkness lay over the world and a hero was chosen to fight it. But the hero needed a hero’s sword. The first time, he tried to temper it in water and it broke. The second time, he tried to temper it in a lion’s heart and it broke. The third time, as he cast around to find something strong enough, his wife Nissa Nissa bared her chest. For her love was unbreakable. He tempered it in her heart and the blade fused with her soul to create the Red Sword of Heroes, a living blade wreathed in fire. And he fought the darkness and saved the world. But as the world rejoiced, the hero, Azhor Azhai mourned. For he had killed the woman he loved, and a world without her in it was no world at all. So he wandered all of Planetos with his sword, slaying monster after monster, secretly hoping all the while that one would be strong enough to kill him. But none were. And the harder he tried to die, the more famous and beloved he grew, for there was no land too large for him to help, and no person too small to save. And finally, he came to the great cliffs at the end of the world, and here at last, he thought to throw himself from them and finally die.”

She paused to take a breath. Stannis’ eyes were closed, his pulse faint, but it was still there.

“Then, as he stood at the edge of the cliff, he heard his wife’s voice scream ‘No!’ And he looked around in hopes to see her, and realized that the voice came not from his wife but from the sword. And he grew angry. ‘All these years and you said nothing! You should hate me! I killed you! Why didn’t you stop me? Why didn’t you run? Even now you could have turned in my hand and cut me down!’ And the sword burned bright in his hand with the soul of Nissa Nissa. It said, ‘I never sought to turn you from your path, only to light your way.’”

Were those sirens? She wasn’t sure they weren’t a product of her own fevered imagination.

“Did he kill himself?” Stannis asked, a wisp of sound that might have been in her head as well. His eyes were still closed.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “That’s where it ends.”

“Your ending,” he said. Melisandre looked down at his chest. Her bloody fingers pressing the makeshift bandage over the wound.

“He lived,” she said and maybe it was a prayer.


	106. Jaime (Burn Them All 10 of 10)

He had failed, Jaime thought numbly, as Aerys Targaryen gripped his arm, yellowed nails digging into his arm as he dragged him down the hall. Who was he kidding playing at being the hero who saves the day? The gun jammed into his ribs was a painful reminder of all he had accomplished. Failure to save the city? Check. Failure to stop the bad guy? Check. Getting Stannis Baratheon killed? Check. 

All because he had thought his own father was the culprit. Nobody had thought that but him. If he had kept his stupid mouth shut, maybe they wouldn’t have saved the city but Stannis would still be alive, maybe his father would have figured it out, maybe...

They came to a halt at whatever had been the security room. There were television screens, all black now, and a control panel whose function Jaime could only guess.

“Rossert is on his way,” Aerys told him conversationally. “We’ll detonate then from here, this building is built to withstand all sorts of... madness.”

Jaime didn’t respond

“Sit,” Aerys jabbed him forward with the gun into the one chair in the room. “Let’s call your father.”

He pushed a button and Jaime heard the dial tone echo through the room. Then the ten digit number he could have dialed in his sleep. It rang longer than it usually did when he called his father. Tywin always picked up by the second ring or sent it straight to voicemail. He was not an indecisive person and he was never away from his phone. But this time it rang and rang, no doubt as Tywin wondered what Aerys’ latest gambit was. Jaime felt a pang anger and despair at being used as a pawn against his family this way. But he had nobody to blame but himself. The stupidest Lannister. One more thing Cersei had been right about.

“Aerys,” his father picked up, sounding even testier than usual. But the sound system was so good that it felt like he was there in the room, and for a passing moment there was a lump in Jaime’s throat and he wanted to call out to his father. To warn him or beg Tywin to save him, Jaime wasn’t sure.

“How’s the family?” Aerys asked, and even that casual question sounded so gleeful and unhinged that Jaime wondered how anyone could have thought Aerys sane. 

“If this is a social call, I can return your call later this evening...”

“Oh we’re well beyond social,” Aerys giggled. 

“Then get to the point.”

“The point,” Aerys rocked on his heels like a child. “It’s four p.m. Do you know where your son is?”

There was a long pause.

“He didn’t do anything to you,” Tywin said finally, and there was a strange timbre to his voice that Jaime didn’t recognize. Furious, that he recognized but it was something else too, what was it? “What exactly are the terms of his release? I think you’ll find me quite... reasonable.”

There it was again, a strange catch. Scared, Jaime realized. Tywin Lannister was scared.

“But am I reasonable? You called me crazy,” Aerys’ voice slipped from giggling to snarling in an instant. 

“We were having an argument,” Tywin answered stiffly after a pause. “I may have overstepped in the heat of the moment.”

“So you were wrong?” Aerys sounded amused now. 

“Is that what you want? An apology?” The sneer was audible in Tywin’s voice, and on some level, Jaime was impressed to find that disdain was so embedded in his father’s DNA that not even negotiating with a madman for his son’s life could fully eradicate it. On most other levels, Jaime just mentally face palmed and hoped Aerys didn’t shoot him for the insult.

“So true,” Aerys hummed in agreement. “We’re far past apologies. What I want is you to listen to your son die. Say something to dear old dad, Jaime.”

Part of him wanted to spring for Aerys now, even though he was standing across the room, even though it was too far. But if he could wait this out, perhaps his father had some last trick up his sleeve. So instead he took a deep breath.

“Hi,” he said. That was as far as he got for a moment, because really, if you knew this was going to be the last time you spoke to your father, what would you say? 

“Take care of Tyrion and Cersei. You need to do a better job of that if I’m not around,” Jaime said finally.

“This strikes me as terribly maudlin, Aerys,” Tywin ignored him entirely. “I can’t help but wonder if it’s all feeling a little... hollow?”

“What?” Aerys growled, his grip on the gun tightening.

“I suppose he’s passable as a substitute, but there‘s no denying that the person you really want to kill is me. A little disappointing is it? That you won’t get to watch the life drain out of my eyes? The eyes are all wrong you know. Joanna’s eyes.”

“Rhaegar had his mother’s eyes,” Aerys muttered, apropos of nothing. Then, “I liked Joanna.”

“It seems to me you’re overlooking an opportunity,” Tywin ignored the little tendril of insanity entirely, and that seemed to have a chastening effect. “Why you could order me to take his place and I would.” 

“You would? You would.” It had a childish note of uncertainty that dropped into something more malicious. “A trade. Less pain to you but more fun for me.”

“We call those a win-win,” Tywin said drily. 

“I would like to see you die,” Aerys said, clearly tempted by the prospect of Tywin dying in front of him, literally by his own hand, instead of off stage somewhere in a storm of wildfire.

Jaime couldn’t believe his father was proposing this. It was painfully obvious that Aerys would just kill them both. This was so uncharacteristically stupid, and maybe yes just the teensiest bit brave and noble and the fact that he was discovering this in the last minutes of his life and his father’s life seemed desperately sad. 

“Don’t do it,” Jaime blurted. “Don’t come, it doesn’t matter, he’ll kill me anyway, you know he will, just get out of the city—”

“It’s going to be okay,” his father cut him off. That was exactly what Stannis said before Aerys had shot him.

“Logistically, it’ll take me about twenty minutes to get to your mansion. I assume that’s where you are?” His father was now addressing Aerys again.

“Twenty minutes?” Aerys mused. “Let’s make it fifteen. I would hate for you to have extra time to think about calling the police. I’ve had your phones bugged for ages you know.”

“As a matter of fact,” Tywin said tiredly, “I did know. Fifteen minutes. I want my son to stay on the line. I’ve no interest in a corpse.”

“I haven’t killed him yet. But the clock is ticking… Fourteen minutes,” Aerys smirked. His cell made a polite beeping noise to show it had an incoming text. “Rossert says everything is in place,” he told Jaime offhand. “All this time, so much… resistance… and now all the cards are finally falling my way.”

Looking back, maybe it was that sick complacency that broke the camel’s back. That casual arrogance with which he spoke of countless deaths. All Jaime knew was that in that moment, he decided he was done feeling sorry for himself. Aerys was an evil twisted fuck and he wasn’t going to win. Jaime stood up.

“Sit down,” Aerys scolded him, gesturing with the gun. Jaime looked at the chair.

“You know, I don’t think I will.” He tried to pitch his voice at his father’s condescending best, and from the way Aerys’ nostrils flared, he came close to hitting the mark.

“Jaime, what are you doing? What’s happening?” The real thing demanded, but Jaime paid the disembodied voice no mind.

“And since my father isn’t going to say it, I will. You are completely crazy. A total loon. You should be hospitalized, except that’s too good for you,” Jaime snapped. If Aerys shot him, his father wouldn’t come. He knew about the wildfire now. Tywin might even escape. Aerys’ victory would be ruined. Maybe this was the one life he was meant to save. 

“Shut up boy,” Aerys spat. “I’ll kill you.”

“You will not,” his father growled. “Jaime stop this foolishness and just WAIT.”

“Go ahead and kill me!” Jaime taunted. He took a step closer to Aerys, causing Aerys to cock the gun. “You’ll kill me anyway. Why should I go down without a fight.”

There was a kind of cold calmness in him now. It was too soon, far too soon, there was so much he hadn’t done, so much he hadn’t said... He swallowed as Brienne popped into his head. Brienne crying. But she would understand. Of all people, she would understand that he couldn’t stand by while this happened.

“Do it!” He yelled. “Take the shot!”

“NO!” Brienne screamed, and for a moment Jaime thought it was in his head but Aerys had heard it too, his head swiveling to where the door had been barred shut.

Brienne. She was here? She was standing outside the door?

“Brienne, run!” He shouted.

Aerys was fumbling with the controls on the desk, trying to get the security cameras up and running. A camera flickered. Brienne was standing in the hall. And she was not alone. Cops, cops everywhere. And there, struggling in handcuffs was the mayor’s weaselly aide.

“Mr. Mayor, we have you surrounded,” an officer announced, noticing the equipment had come to life and looking directly into the camera. “Please come quietly.”

Aerys was mumbling to himself now, eyes rolling. 

“Burn them... burn them all...” He glanced at the gun and he glanced at Jaime and Jaime knew that he had no intention of coming out of the room alive at all. He had one chance, while Aerys was staring down at the gun in his hands and he didn’t intend to let this moment pass.

He threw himself at Aerys, as he had practiced in a thousand drills back when he still played football, back when he was allowed to fight, and he hit him hard.

Aerys was middle aged and gaunt and not suspecting any kind of resistance at all. He hit shoulder to solar plexus and they were falling backwards, Aerys raking Jaime’s flesh with his nails. Jaime tried to pin him, he could hear the police breaking down the door. He only had to hold him for a moment longer—Aerys wrenched free twisting to scramble away, and Jaime saw the gun even as Aerys was desperately scrambling for freedom. He grabbed it with the hand that was closest—his bad hand—the fingers permanently bent and stiff. 

Every times that Jaime replayed that moment—and in the years to come he replayed it a thousand times, a million times—it happened in a different order, a slightly different way. 

Aerys, still on his hands and knees, twisting to look back. Seeing the gun in Jaime’s hand. The expression on his face changing—hate? fear?—the twitch of movement. Jaime’s fumbling hand, the scarred fingers clutching the tiny weapon, almost a toy gun, ludicrously small for the chaos it had wrought. And then the shot. In the small room it sounded even louder than it had in the study when Aerys had killed Stannis. 

It hit him in the side of the head. If there was any change in the hateful expression on his features, Jaime did not see it. Aerys Targaryen fell face down. Aerys Targaryen died face down.

A bullet to the brain and all of his mad dreams of dragons and fire were laid to rest.

The police broke in minutes later. It wasn’t just Brienne with them, Jaime registered distantly. There were Robert and Ned. They all saw how it looked, the boy kneeling with the gun in his hands, the mayor some feet distant, face down in a pool of his life’s blood. They all saw how it looked, but only Ned said it.

“You shot him,” he said. “You shot him in the back.”

“I didn’t...” Jaime tried to protest, tried to explain, but it was written on Ned’s face, the disgust, and in the cops who wouldn’t look at him, and oh gods, Brienne was here, seeing him like this. His mouth had gone dry, but his cheeks were wet. “I didn’t...” he tried again, but the words weren’t there.

And then Brienne pushed past the others and ran to him, meeting him on the ground, her arms around him, his face buried in her neck and hair.

“I know you didn’t,” she said, softly and firmly, and with unshakeable confidence. “You saved us all.”

At that, Jaime wept in earnest.


	107. Stannis (Graduation 1 of 9)

When Stannis had woken up in a private hospital bed, wrapped in a quilt, the sun filtering in through the window, he had taken a moment to process the idea that somehow everything seemed fine.

It had not seemed fine the last time he was conscious, when he had been quite sure he was bleeding out in his girlfriend’s arms and they were all about to die anyway in a storm of wildfire.

But then he had found himself warm and cozy and in a very pleasant patch of sunlight, and Melisandre was reading a book at the foot of his bed, her feet kicked up and the sun catching threads of gold in her long red hair. She was wearing a dark purple skirt that he had never seen before. She looked nice in purple, and he thought she should wear it more often.

“Hi,” he had croaked. Melisandre had looked up and favored him with a smile.

“Hi,” she had said. 

He had cautiously prodded his chest where the mayor had most definitely shot him. There was a twinge of pain through the medicated haze, and Stannis had pushed his hospital gown aside to reveal neat bandages.

“What happened?” He had asked.

“You got shot,” Melisandre had said drily. He gave her a look.

And then she had explained.

Robert’s Rebellion, the press were calling it, and Stannis had felt his normal wave of infuriated incredulity. Robert had barely done anything!! Maybe they just liked the alliteration, Davos had suggested, when he had come running minutes after Stannis had woken up.

All the same, everyone knew the story of how some heroic youngsters had stood up to a mayor gone mad with power, and nearly died in his clutches before the police and Tywin Lannister—wait what? Stannis had asked. It’s a long story, Robert and Renly said in unison—before the police and Tywin Lannister had swooped in to barely save the day. It turned out that Tywin Lannister had been cooperating with Jeor Mormont for months now to try and take Aerys down. That’s why Jeor Mormont had bitten their heads off. He didn’t want them mucking up an active investigation, which they kind of did, but whatever now they were heroes.

The mayor had taken Jaime Lannister hostage, but Jaime managed to fight his way free before shooting the mayor down—we don’t know that, Beric had scolded Thoros and Thoros had shrugged and said it made a better story—fine, Jaime had managed to fight his way free before the gun ACCIDENTALLY discharged, ACCIDENTALLY killing the mayor.

Everyone in school thought Stannis was a hero for bravely confronting the mayor. And everybody thought Robert and Ned were heroes for getting the police involved to save the day. And everyone thinks I’m a psychopath, Jaime Lannister added moodily, when he showed up to visit. Not everyone, Brienne had wrapped her arm around his waist and Jaime had kissed her and Stannis had politely asked them to leave if they intended to continue doing that.

And the first day back at school had been... surreal. People were stopping him in the hall to clap him on the back. Girls were eyeing him, at least until Melisandre bared her teeth at them. When Stannis, Melisandre and Davos had started the plodding walk to Davos’ truck, a photographer across the street began snapping photos.

“PISS OFF!” Sandor Clegane had yelled at the photographer from behind them, and the man was alarmed enough that he went scampering for the hills. He was probably just in a bad mood, Melisandre explained, because once Robert had started sitting at his table, Ned and Catelyn had moved too. And then Oberyn and Mace had pushed another table up, because there weren’t any more spots. Cersei kept coming by to talk to Jaime, and sometimes she ended up just staying there. Lysa followed Cersei everywhere, dragging Petyr along for the ride. One day Edmure Tully had gotten to Center Table to find it simply wasn’t in the center anymore. And Clegane would never have a quiet lunch again.

Cersei had won the elections for next year’s lord-paramount. Er... lady paramount. She and Robert still weren’t speaking, but according to Varys, neither of them had hooked up with anybody yet. Ned was going to the Aerie with Robert, but Lyanna was putting off college for a couple years to go backpacking through Essos. And Elia and Oberyn were going to Sunspear, obviously, but the big surprise was that Oberyn would be rooming with Mace Tyrell. Apparently he had decided that Mace needed to start living a little and was determined to take him under his wing. Varys was running bets on how long before Mace had a nervous breakdown.

Life had mostly returned to normal. 

“So what did we learn?” Melisandre had asked him back at the hospital, before Davos had shown up huffing and out of breath. 

“Don’t trust the government?” Stannis had offered, not quite ready to meet her gaze. She had pursed her lips.

“I was only trying to keep you safe,” he mumbled.

“I don’t want to be safe,” Melisandre had taken his hands in her own, forcing him to look at her. “I want to be with you.”

And the bullet would be fine. Aside from scarring and some stiffness in his right shoulder.

“The doctor says you’ll never be able to throw a football again,” Robert had announced sadly, flopping on the bed and practically bouncing Stannis out.

“I don’t play football,” Stannis had growled.

“And now you never will,” Robert sighed dramatically.

“He’s trying to say he’s glad you’re okay,” Renly took one ear bud out. “I thought he was going to cry.”

“I was not! You cried!”

“I did not! I wouldn’t cry over either of you morons!”

“Ren totally cried. Stannis, you can’t do that again,” Robert had punched him playfully in his very clearly bandaged shoulder. Stannis had a sharp intake of breath as the pain lanced through him.

“Where’re Mom and Dad?” He finally managed. Robert and Renly exchanged a glance.

“Scuba diving off Naath?” Robert said uncertainly.

“That was last week. On a safari in Sothyros,” Renly said, although he too sounded unsure.

“That’s my point though,” Robert prodded Stannis again. “I can’t be a single parent. Don’t leave me with him.”

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Renly scowled.

“You were a mistake,” Robert said loftily. “Mom and Dad didn’t even want you. That’s why you’re so much younger.”

“That’s not true!” Renly smacked Robert across the stomach. “Stannis, tell him it’s not true!”

“Of course it’s not true,” Stannis rolled his eyes. “They were trying for a girl.”

“WHAT?!”

“Nice!”

So everything was fine. Better than fine. They let him take his finals a week later than everyone else and he crushed them. Robert would graduate—he had failed his chemistry exam but Jon Arryn had interceded and said he should get to retake it because his brother was in the hospital and if that didn’t deserve special treatment he didn’t know what did. Naturally, Stannis had thought when Davos recounted this, Robert had only been getting special treatment his entire life. But sure, why not a little extra to get him across the finish line.

And then it was time for graduation.

“You needn’t be so sour,” Renly informed him, adjusting his scarf expertly in the mirror. “You’ve been moping about him getting to retake his chemistry test all week.”

“You look like Little Lord Fauntleroy,” Stannis snarked.

“Your dress socks aren’t matching,” Renly arched an eyebrow. Stannis immediately looked down.

“Made you look!” Renly ran out of the room before Stannis could hit him.

“He’s going to be insufferable without Robert to give him wedgies,” Stannis groaned to Melisandre when she and Beric finally showed up. An unexpected monsoon over the Jade Sea had grounded his parents’ flight, so they would not be making it to graduation. Fortunately Beric’s mother had offered to drive him and Renly as well.

“Just admit it,” Melisandre inspected her fingernails.

“Admit what,” Stannis growled dangerously.

“You’re anxious about Robert going off to college and leaving you, and it’s had you in a terrible mood all day,” Melisandre yawned.

Stannis gave an incredulous look at Beric, who studied his shoes, Stannis’ bureau, then the window, before announcing that he was going to make sure Renly was ready to go. 

“Just because he’s scared to correct you doesn’t mean you’re right,” Stannis scowled once Beric had withdrawn.

“I can’t tell whether it’s because I’m Thoros’ sister or I’m a girl,” Melisandre mused. “Mrs. Dondarrion thinks she let him watch too much Dragonknight when he was little and that’s why he turned out that way.”

“Pathologically chivalrous or wrong about my jackass of a brother?” 

“It’s okay to be sad when somebody leaves. And the Aerie isn’t so far away. We can go to a football game in the fall if you like.”

“You hate football,” Stannis pointed out.

“But I love making out under the bleachers,” Melisandre grinned, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling him in for a kiss.

They were late for the car, of course, and looking decidedly rumpled when they finally made it.

“Stannis and Melly, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S...” Renly started, before Stannis grabbed him by the scarf and one shoulder and deposited him in the backseat middle.

“But I was in the middle last time!!” Renly immediately started whining.

“There’s really no time to stop, we can’t miss Thoros and Robert walking dear, and they’re at the very start of the alphabet,” Mrs. Dondarrion said sweetly but very firmly.

“Is Robert’s speech at the beginning or at the end?” Melisandre asked pointedly. “It’d be a shame to miss an opportunity to hear him say goodbye, don’t you think?”

“I don’t need to hear him say goodbye,” Stannis glared at her. Naturally Robert had been selected to give the graduation speech. As far as Stannis knew, he hadn’t even prepared anything, announcing his attention of ‘just winging it’. Stannis fully expected him to stand up and say ‘Let’s go KLP!’ and then sit down again and for everyone to applaud like he’d just given the Gettysburg Address.

“Oh I hardly think we’re running that late, the speech is at the very end,” Ceylena Dondarrion hastened to assure them.

“Ugh don’t mind them mum, it’s some weird fight they’re having,” Beric said from the front.

“Don’t you think Stannis should let Robert know how much he’s going to miss him before he goes to college?” Melisandre chimed in.

“Oh what a sweet idea,” Mrs. Dondarrion cooed.

“I won’t miss him Melisandre!” Stannis crossed his arms. “He’s loud and dirty and obnoxious and he’s been throwing a party every single weekend! I get more sleep on school nights! We’ve gone through so many kegs I think we’re going to need to apply for a liquor license!”

“Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” Renly giggled. He was spared from what no doubt would have been an utterly blistering comeback by them arriving at the school.

“I’ll run get us seats,” Beric said anxiously. “I want to make sure Thoros can see us.” He was already half out the door despite the car still being in motion. Stannis wanted to remind him that seatbelt safety was a federal law, but reconsidered in light of his mother’s presence.

“Thoros will be hammered,” Melisandre rolled her eyes. “He’ll be lucky if he can pick out which one of the four of you is waving at him.”

“Thoros texted and asked if I could bring some rum to the after party because he forgot to fill his flask,” Beric said mildly but with just a bit of pride. Stannis wasn’t sure whether it was at having successfully managed to disagree with Melisandre or at his boyfriend not being drunk before noon. Baby steps. At that, he swung out of the car and vanished toward the main tent.

“Look at him, he’s so happy,” his mother said fondly. “I thought this might be a difficult day, not graduating with his friends, but he’s been beaming all morning.”

Melisandre grunted.

“It’s okay to be sad your brother’s graduating,” Stannis couldn’t resist a good natured jibe.

Melisandre stuck her tongue out, and they proceeded to walk at a more dignified pace towards the group of five seats in the front that Beric had procured.

All the same, her eyes did look suspiciously bright when her brother walked across the stage to get his diploma from Barristan Selmy, looking uncharacteristically nervous waving at them as they all cheered. Beric’s mom finally had to pause her golf clap to tug her son down from the chair he was standing on. 

“Let them call somebody else’s name dear,” she whispered, and Stannis tried to picture Cassana Baratheon and what she’d be doing. She’d probably be terribly bored and wanting a martini and wishing she were base jumping in Quarth.

Selmy and Thoros were exchanging a few words while the claps were settling down. Once done, Thoros exited stage right with an almost audible sigh of relief. There weren’t too many names between Asshai and Baratheon.

“I can’t see, let me sit on your shoulders when they call him,” Renly whispered.

“You’re too heavy,” Stannis whispered back.

“Robert lets me sit on his shoulders all the time!” 

“Well Robert is twice my size and is not recovering from a gunshot wound!”

“Ugh is that going to be your excuse for everything now?!”

“It’s not an excuse!” Stannis spluttered. 

“Where’s Brienne?” Renly muttered and when Stannis proceeded to ignore him, tugged at Beric’s (as the tallest in their party) sleeve. “Where’s Brienne?”

Beric pointed at her and Jaime in the back. Renly promptly dropped to his knees and began army crawling under the chairs. Stannis felt his face begin to burn as the families behind them yelped and hissed as a small child went snaking through their feet.

“Robert Baratheon!” Barristan Selmy boomed in his usual commanding gravel.

All of the students cheered wildly, and a number of the adults as well. 

“Robert!!!!! Wooooooo!!!!” Renly’s high pitched shrieks could be heard above the roar from his perch on Brienne’s shoulders. After the fourth or fifth wolf whistle, Jaime Lannister wrapped his hand around Renly’s mouth.

Robert gave his usual stupid grin and waved to the crowd. He seemed like he was looking for somebody and it was not Stannis, although his brother gave him an eyebrow waggle when their eyes met.

They were fine. They didn’t do mushy outbursts of emotion. It wasn’t what Baratheon men did.

“I LOVE YOU ROBERT!!!!” Renly managed to escape Jaime’s grip for a moment. Well, most Baratheon men. Fed up, Jaime grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and hauled him off Brienne’s shoulders entirely. “Stannis help!!! I’m being attacked!! STANNIS!”

Stannis slouched lower in his seat.

Thankfully Renly didn’t love any other members of the senior class. Stannis let his brain glaze over as the names rolled by. Only Melisandre politely nudging him brought him back to reality as Robert took the podium. 

He had... notes? Stannis rubbed his eyes. Since when did Robert pre-write speeches? What happened to winging it? What happened to ‘Let’s go, KLP!’”?

Instead the speech was thoughtful, stirring, a touching tribute to a school that had been more than a school, because it had been a family. Stannis noticed more than one alumni wiping away a tear. It was painfully obvious that Robert himself hadn’t written it. 

“Goodbyes are a natural part of growing up, but they don’t have to be forever. And I hope this one isn’t. Because while distance might keep me away, I’m never going to forget you. And I’ll be dropping by sooner than you think. So don’t you dare forget me,” Robert finished. There was a collective ‘Awwwwwww’ from the audience. Then a pause. “Let’s go KLP!” Robert pumped his fist. Everybody cheered. So maybe he hadn’t written ALL of it.

All of the graduates threw their hats and the tent applauded.

“C’mon,” Beric nudged his mom. “We have to beat the traffic to the afterparty.”

“It’s only noon. Are you sure there’s an after party?” Ceylena Dondarrion asked. The remaining three members of their party exchanged a look.

“It’s Robert,” Stannis sighed. “There’s always an after party.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You GUUUUUYYSSSS it's our last arc! Nine chapters, one each from the main six, Cersei, Robert n' Davos. So if you have any random burning questions that you need one of these characters to address, get them in now because it's my last chance to write them into the story!


	108. Thoros (Graduation 2 of 9)

The night before graduation, Thoros lay on his back, counting to a hundred in as many languages as he could remember until he heard Melisandre’s breathing across the room slowly drift into slumber. He gave it another five minutes (they’d been forced to learn a lot of languages), and then he got up, crept noiselessly to the bedroom door, let himself out, and then let himself into the door at the end of the hall.

Once in Beric’s room, he climbed into bed and immediately stuck his frozen feet against Beric’s.

“I knew you were going to do that,” Beric said mock sulkily, cracking an eye open.

“I knew you weren’t really asleep,” Thoros countered grinning.

“I’m just a portable heater to you, aren’t I,” Beric sighed.

“Not that portable. I had to come to you.”

“I’m just a not that portable heater.”

“Shhhh,” Thoros pushed his hand over Beric’s mouth. “Less talking, more heating.”

Beric huffed, but didn’t object when Thoros snuggled closer and pulled him into his arms.

“This is our last night together when you’re still in high school,” Beric pointed out, smiling.

“Mmmm.”

“Do you ever think about how this time last year, we didn’t even know each other?”

“Mhmm.”

“This time last year, I was in the hospital drinking my food through a straw. I had no friends and nobody I could even be myself around. Everyone was taking finals and I was missing all my classes, knowing I’d have to repeat a semester. I wish I’d known I was going to meet you, that it was all going to be worth it in the end.”

“…Thoros? Are you asleep already?”

“…Thoros?”

Thoros wasn’t really, but he was much too comfortable to move, especially after Beric gently kissed the top of his head and then pulled the blankets up around them.

Naturally by the time he managed to get out of bed in the morning, he was incredibly late. Robert had promised to drive him, and he showed up at the Baratheons’ disheveled and disoriented. Then, in the ten minutes that they were there, he somehow managed to misplace his backpack, which resulted in ANOTHER ten minutes of frantically looking, only to find it in the spot he swore he’d left it the first time.

Thankfully Robert was a fast driver, and they peeled into the senior parking lot somewhat on time. Only to be handed the goofiest outfits imaginable, and herded into a fantastically long alphabetized line to wait. And wait. Westerosis. Sometimes Thoros thought they would just get into line to be in line, no questions asked.

“Dude, you n’ Beric are coming to the after party right?” Robert casually knocked the mortarboard from Thoros’ head. “Another party?” Thoros raised an eyebrow as he retrieved it and jammed it back on top of his almost fully regrown top-knot. “We’ve been practically living at your house. Aren’t you tired of us? Aren’t you just tired?!”

“I think it’s a good influence for Renly,” Robert grinned.

“Well that’s the first time someone’s used the words ‘good influence’ to describe me,” Thoros joked, absent-mindedly patting his pockets for his flask.

“Ugh not you. Perfectly good build for the defensive line gone to waste. I meant Beric. It’s the twenty-first century. Renly needs to see that plenty of gay guys play football and don’t spend their weekends on the couch watching reality tv.”

“You’re truly a model of enlightenment,” Thoros laughed, face brightening as he finally found his flask in his back left pocket.

“Well I can’t let the Baratheon legacy just die! And Stannis is as bad as you. Plus he’s been using that stupid bullet wound as an excuse for EVERYTHING. Never mind that I could have turned him into a decent backup-quarterback. Renly’s fast-ish. Maybe if Beric can talk to him about being a wide receiver, I can work with him on some routes in the summer,” Robert rambled. Thoros uncorked his flask and took a swig. Nothing came out.

“Just make sure Beric talks about all the write ups he got in the school newspaper. Renly’s such an attention-whore, he’ll eat it up,” Robert was saying. “Hey do my robes look okay? Gotta look good for this graduation speech, Jon Arryn says there’s photographers for the King’s Landing Daily here.” 

Thoros couldn’t have forgotten to fill his flask could he? He had a very strict policy that mandatory school events required a healthy buzz. And wearing ridiculous costumes required a healthy buzz. And waiting in interminable lines DEFINITELY required a healthy buzz. He pulled Robert’s robes straight, although really there wasn’t much to do beyond that. Except for the peek of their shirts at the top, it just looked like they were all wearing great billowy cloaks to their ankles. That accomplished, he held the flask up to his eye. There was nothing in it. He had filled it, he knew he had filled it! He distinctly remembered noticing that his birthday stockpile had finally started running low and he was on to the cheap shit. 

Thoros sent a quick SOS message to Beric and then sadly tipped his flask upside down. A single drop fell from the lip and splatted on the ground forlornly. He gave it a little shake. A note fluttered out.

_Meet me in the men’s locker room._

Thoros read it and felt a smile break across his face. He really was a good influence, at least on Beric. This was way better than that stupid rum from Lorath!

“I’ll catch you in twenty minutes,” he told Robert, who was mumble-practicing his speech under his breath, and got a wave in response.

He ducked back into the school and found the men’s locker room. With a quick glance to make sure that nobody was around and a mischievous smirk, he wriggled out of his jeans and boxers and hoodie and left them in a pile outside the door. If Beric liked surprises, Thoros was happy to oblige. 

He strolled into the men’s locker room, reflecting that the breeze under his graduation robes was rather liberating. 

“Hey, I’m—“ Thoros started, and then jumped about a foot when Cersei Lannister slipped out from behind the lockers. “...here?!” He finished wanly, suddenly aware that he was alone in the men’s locker room with Robert’s man-eating ex girlfriend and oh yeah, he wasn’t wearing anything under his robes. Had he said liberating? Exposed and vulnerable both seemed more fitting. Where was Beric?!

“I was starting to worry you wouldn’t get my note,” Cersei said matter of factly.

“Your note?” Thoros managed, feeling slightly ill.

“The one I put in your flask?” Cersei arched an eyebrow.

“You emptied my flask?” Thoros asked with a sudden intake of breath. It was her fault he was sober?! And he wasn’t even going to get a pre-graduation blowjob out of it?!

“Please, it was Lorathi rum,” Cersei sniffed. “Your liver will thank me later.”

“What do you want, Cersei?” Thoros growled.

Cersei glanced out the window and bit her lip, green eyes downcast. She seemed unwilling to come to the point, which was unfortunate as Thoros wanted to retrieve his clothes quite badly.

“Congratulation,” she said finally, and looking back up with a sparkling smile that he was reasonably sure was entirely fake.

“Eh?” He said.

“On winning the Lannister Corp Students for STEM Excellence Scholarship.”

“What?” Thoros blinked.

“Four years of fully paid tuition to a college of your choice.”

“What?” 

“To be fair, you were the only applicant. And technically it was for women. But that wasn’t actually in the description of the scholarship that my father submitted to get the tax deduction, and there were no other public descriptions because he didn’t end up using it after he created it. But he did get the tax deduction, so he would have had to award it to somebody. I only suggested that the Lannister Foundation’s young members’ committee select all of this year’s scholarship winners, and then submitted your name for this scholarship and then picked you,” Cersei explained, as if it were all too simple for words.

“What?” 

“Really, I see why you get along so well with Robert,” Cersei rolled her eyes. “Say thank you, Cersei, how incredibly generous of you.”

“Thank you Cersei, what’s the catch?” Thoros narrowed his eyes at her. 

“Why is it that whenever I try to do something nice, people think there’s a catch?” Cersei asked rhetorically. Thoros stood his ground.

“There’s no catch. I don’t know what kind of college you can expect to get into with your disciplinary record. How on earth did you get thirty detentions in a row?! But if you get into a college you can go to a college,” Cersei shrugged.

Thoros tried to process that for a while and then since he was having trouble, decided to put a pin in it until after graduation, which was now happening in less than twenty minutes. Because, wow. That really changed a lot of things. Like his entire life plan for the next five years. What would Beric say? What would Melisandre say???

“That is very generous,” Thoros finally managed. “I mean it. I’m not really sure why we had to meet in the men’s locker room right before I graduated to discuss it, but thank you. Seriously.”

He started to edge toward the door, trying to figure out how he was going to gather up his clothes without Cersei noticing. Because he wasn’t sure what would make her change her mind, but realizing he was totally naked under his robes might do the trick.

“Um wait,” Cersei said, twisting her hands. Thoros mentally sighed, but he waited.

“Does Robert seem okay?” She said tentatively. 

“You mean after you fake dumped him except it was actually for real?” Thoros said bluntly.

“Yeah,” Cersei’s features couldn’t really do sheepish, but she could do vaguely concerned. “Is he drinking too much? Do you know if he’s gotten his speech prepared? Has he said anything about me?”

“I dunno. Why don’t you ask him yourself?” 

Cersei gave him an ‘is that the way you talk to someone who just gave you a blank check’ scowl. Which, fair.

“He’s having a party after graduation. You can’t tell me you weren’t invited,” Thoros tried to dredge up some helpfulness. “If you want to see him, just come to the party.”

“It was group text,” Cersei sulked. “How am I supposed to take an invitation that includes both me and Sandor Clegane seriously?!”

“So you’re saying that in exchange for a four year scholarship worth approximately two hundred thousand dragons, you want me to get Robert to text you directly an invitation to the after party?”

“The scholarship is yours. I told you there wasn’t a catch,” Cersei looked like she was chewing on something inexpressibly sour. “But, if you wanted to do me a favor, an invitation to that party would be nice. Please.” She looked surprised at the ending, as if she wasn’t accustomed to using that word. Thoros rolled his eyes and gave a lazy salute as he walked out of the locker room.

Why did girls have to make everything so complicated?! At least what Cersei wanted barely even qualified as a favor. And if she wanted something, who cares if she realized he’d walked into the locker room one step past commando. Whelp, Thoros closed the door behind him, already bending to scoop his clothes up, time to get dressed and walk across a stage in front of a few thousand people.

And then he stopped.

His pile of clothing was gone.

He looked up the hall. He looked down the hall. He turned in a full three hundred sixty degree circle. His clothes were still missing.

“You’re still here?” Cersei left the locker room. “You’re like the third person to be called, you need to get a move on.”

“But…” Thoros looked down at his feet helplessly. His clothes had been right there!

“Nerves? I don’t get them myself, but I’m told you should imagine everyone is naked,” Cersei said blithely. Thoros tried not to flinch. “Now I’ve got to run because I don’t have any reason to be at graduation, but remember, this conversation never happened. I was NEVER HERE,” she said the last part slowly and deliberately, apparently as a response to his stricken expression.

“You were never here,” Thoros repeated back, since that appeared to be the only way to get rid of her and he now had like five minutes to search for his clothes. The strategy worked, but his clothes appeared to have evaporated into the ether. And his phone was in his jean pocket. And his wallet. Oh no, his flask. Fuck, and now he really really had to go. 

Thoros barely made it to the assembly line, getting a glare from Barristan Selmy, who was keeping them in regimented order. He reached around Ball, Banefort and Bar Emmon to poke Robert. 

“Psst, can I borrow your phone?” He asked. Robert tossed it to him. He immediately texted Cersei.

_You are cordially invited to the after party at my house._

He then called his own phone, grinding his teeth when he suddenly heard a phone go off somewhere in the line behind him. One of these assholes had stolen his shit! Who was it?! What conniving and utterly amoral opportunist could have possibly done such a heinous—

“Hello?” Oberyn Martell answered the phone cheerfully. 

“You!” Thoros snarled. “Give me back my stuff! What did I ever do to you?!”

“I know it was you who gave my cell phone number to that Nymeria chick,” Oberyn sighed as if he weren’t mad, just disappointed. “She keeps calling me to tell me she’s in love with me! It was a one night stand! We don’t even speak the same language! The whole thing is very awkward and uncomfortable. Much like appearing on stage naked, I imagine.”

“I didn’t give her your number!”

“I don’t believe you.”

Thoros growled and hung up, stepping out of line to have a word or two with that smug Aviator-wearing menace when Barristan Selmy caught him by the neck.

“Get back into line, Mr. Asshai,” Selmy growled. “I am so close to never having to see you again. Let’s end on a high note, shall we?” Thoros gulped and nodded. Robert’s phone buzzed. Certain it was a missive from Oberyn, he flipped it open.

_Robert doesn’t know what cordially means. Now give him his phone back, the ceremony is starting._

Thoros scanned the room for Cersei, mildly creeped out to know he was under surveillance.

“Nella Algood!” Principal Aemon Targaryen’s querulous voice read the first name. With an inward groan, Thoros tossed Robert’s phone back over Ball, Banefort and Bar Emmon’s heads, where Robert caught it one-handed.

“Ryon Allyrion!” 

This was going to be fine. Nobody could tell he wasn’t wearing anything under these stupid robes. 

“Arthur Ambrose!”

Ugh, this was exactly why you needed to be buzzed at school events. Some liquid courage would have gone a long way right about now.

“Thoros Asshai!”

Thoros fixed his face into a smile and walked across the stage to Principal Aemon, where he shook his hand. He tried to focus on the elderly man, who was almost completely blind as it was, and not on the fact that literally everybody he knew would get an eyeful if a stiff breeze came along at the wrong time. Aemon gently removed his hand after Thoros had shaken it fifteen or sixteen times and gave him a push toward Barristan Selmy who was standing stage right with his diploma. Selmy was actually beaming.

“I never thought this day would come,” Selmy said as he handed him the diploma. “Now all we have to do is smile until everyone stops clapping.”

Thoros wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. Why was Beric still clapping?!

“Just keep smiling,” Selmy said. “In five minutes, I’ll never have to deal with you again.”

“Mr. Selmy,” Thoros whispered through his smile. “Oberyn Martell stole my clothes. Can you make him give them back?”

“What?!” Selmy whispered back. “What are you wearing then?!”

“Uh, not much?” 

“Why is Dondarrion still clapping?!” Selmy groaned. “You just had to ruin this for me.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Selmy,” Thoros abandoned his last shred of dignity and groveled. “Will you make him give them back?”

Beric finally was forcibly tugged down by his mother. Selmy turned with a grim smile.

“I’ve been waiting a long time to say this Mr. Asshai. You are someone else’s problem now.”

“What?!” Thoros groaned. “Barry, don’t be like that!”

“Good day, Mr. Asshai. Congratulations.”


	109. Jaime (Graduation 3 of 9)

The lion doesn’t concern himself with the opinions of sheep, is what his father would have said. Cersei would have told him to get over himself and play the game. Tyrion would have said something like welcome to my world. Plenty of action hero protagonists were misunderstood. Hells, it was basically a requirement. When Jaime set out on his world redemption tour, he hadn’t done it with the expectation of a parade waiting at the end with rose petals and a champagne toast.

“It’s the Kingslayer,” somebody whispered, and the sound carried. Jaime could help himself but stiffen.

He just hadn’t expected to be a universal pariah either. His face burned as he felt another knot of people turn to stare at him. 

You kill one lousy mayor...

Jaime wasn’t even sure he’d fucking meant to pull the gun. He could barely remember it. The therapist that his father insisted he see speculated that he was suffering from PTSD and was repressing the memory. 

His father had arrived about five minutes after the police, and hadn’t said anything about finding his oldest son weeping in the lap of the girlfriend he’d never liked. Instead, Tywin Lannister had frozen all of the police in their tracks and swept Jaime and Brienne out into his limousine and informed the commanding officer that his son would be available for questioning when he was cleared by a licensed psychiatrist and if the man had any problems, he could take it up with Deputy Commissioner Jeor Mormont. Incidentally, what was the man’s badge number? Because Tywin Lannister would also be having a conversation with Jeor Mormont.

His relationship with his father was incredibly awkward at the moment. His father had every right to be furious at him. They had only gotten into this mess because Jaime had managed to convince himself (and Stannis) that his father was a psychopath. Only Tywin was being annoyingly solicitous in a weird ‘I henceforth communicate only by post-its and voicemails from my secretary’ kind of way, and Jaime was keenly aware that he owed his father some kind of apology but hadn’t been face to face with him in a room for more than five minutes to deliver it.

Breakfast for example, was now served in his room on a silver platter by Westerling, just like they did when they had guests. He had been skipping school about as often as he had been attending, and nobody had said anything, even though he knew his father knew because his father had spies everywhere.

The most father had ever said had been when the police bodycam video leaked.

It had been bad enough what Ned said to him—“You killed him”—fucking honorable Ned Stark who had never needed a redemption arc because he had never done anything that needed to be redeemed. But the video had leaked on some shady tabloid website, and you could see the dead body, face down, looking for all the world like Aerys had been trying to flee. And Jaime sitting there, holding the gun and staring. And then like a voiceover, Ned saying it again—“You killed him, you shot him in the back”—just in case any blind viewers hadn’t gotten the fucking point.

Jaime hadn’t known about it, even though Varys had posted a link to the article on his blog earlier that day (he found that out later). He’d just known that he’d been lazily sort of doing his homework and he’d heard Cersei and Tyrion whispering outside his door and known it would be bad news.

“You tell him!”

“It’ll sound better coming from you!”

“No it won’t!”

“Yes it will!”

And then Tywin Lannister had opened the door and both his siblings had fallen through behind him.

“Don’t skulk outside of rooms, it’s impolite,” Tywin had said to both of them. Then he looked his son directly in the eye and said, “there was leaked footage of the crime scene. I’ve had our in house counsel issue a cease and desist letter to the publication, and the official site has taken it down. We’ll retain a law firm tomorrow to proceed with formal litigation. However, I have been advised that actually keeping the video offline entirely is a fool’s errand. I have spoken to Aemon Targaryen, and should you wish to take your exams off-site, he will arrange for you to do so.”

There had been a brief moment where Jaime struggled to wrap his brain around the rapid fire torrent of information. Seeing that an immediate response was not forthcoming, Tywin had stared at him for a second and then walked out.

Jaime had gone to school once since the footage leaked, and had bailed after two periods when the whispers finally became too much. Stannis had practically been canonized. His father had been given a key to the city. And let’s not forget that the entire episode was being called Robert’s Rebellion. He didn’t need the world to be fair. But why had he become public enemy number one?!

“I don’t remember you staying home moping when you broke your hand. Or when father was being dragged by the press that’s currently fawning over him,” Cersei had sighed from where she was tanning on a pool float.

“It’s different!” Jaime protested, splashing water at her. “This is who I’m going to be for the rest of my life! It’s not just our school, it’s everywhere! And unlike those things, I was trying to save them all from a fiery inferno death!”

“I say you lean into it,” Tyrion pondered, sitting on the edge of the pool and kicking his legs in and out of the water. “Introduce yourself as Kingslayer. Get some tattoos. Start a gang.”

“Very helpful, Tyrion, thank you,” Jaime snarked. The man hadn’t even been a king! Okay mayorslayer was objectively worse, and maybe some of the press had been calling him a king because of how many terms he’d served, but calling him a Kingslayer was like giving Robert credit for the entire thing. Except, oh right, they’d done that too.

“If you would just do an interview with one of the reporters that father has in his pocket and work on changing public perception,” Cersei began.

“I was trying to save their lives! Why should I have to go groveling to get back in their good graces?! Exactly what sin have I committed here?!”

“So basically you want everybody to like you again, but you refuse to do anything to make that happen,” Cersei said tartly.

“Yes,” Jaime jutted his jaw out. Cersei and Tyrion exchanged glances. 

“We love you, Jaime,” Cersei began.

“We would do anything for you,” Tyrion continued.

“But you’re being ridiculous,” they said in near-unison. Jaime scowled at both of them. Did they practice that routine?! How dare they gang up on him! 

“Are we going to the Baratheon graduation party?” Tyrion asked, in a forced change of subject.

“Since when were you invited?” Cersei asked waspishly.

“Renly texted me yesterday,” Tyrion stuck his tongue out. Jaime appreciated the return to low grade hostility.

“Well I’m not going,” Cersei crossed her arms. “We broke up. How would it look if I showed up at the party of the ex who cheated on me and nearly gave me a STD?!”

“So basically,” Jaime echoed Cersei’s sarcastic tone from earlier. “You lied about Robert cheating on you and having a STD, and now even though you want to see him, you’re not going to because it would reflect badly on you given the web of lies that you yourself created. And you think I’M being ridiculous?!”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Cersei pouted. Jaime and Tyrion exchanged glances.

“We love you Cersei,” Tyrion began.

“We would do anything for you,” Jaime smirked.

“But you’re being ridiculous,” they finished together.

“Are you going to the party?” Tyrion asked Jaime hopefully.

“Brienne’s insisting I go to the graduation ceremony. So maybe. We’ll see,” Jaime sighed. He wouldn’t even be going to that—it’s not like he had any special friends in the senior class, and he could think of one senior in particular whose name stared with Ed and ended with Ark who he could quite cheerfully murder since that was APPARENTLY a thing he did now—but Brienne had really wanted to go and was too shy to go by herself and had sounded so disappointed when he tried to decline that he’d immediately caved.

“Well it’s the first time I’ve ever been invited to a high school party, and I want to go. And one of you is driving me,” Tyrion glared at both of them. 

Cersei only rolled away from them to tan her other side. Tyrion shifted his glare fully on Jaime.

“Oh look at the time,” Jaime said lamely. “Brienne’s going to be picking me up any minute.”

And that was how he found himself determinedly holding Brienne’s hand and trying to ignore the fact that everyone hated him.

Sometimes he thought the only thing keeping him from picking up and moving to Essos was Brienne. Just seeing the way her face lit up in the rare occasions he made it to school was some consolation for the whispers and the stares. She needed him, and every time Jaime thought about saying to hell with it and moving somewhere where nobody had ever heard of Aerys Targaryen, he would think of her face crumpled in that parking lot back in October, what it looked like to let her down.

So instead of researching flight times and taking crash courses in Valyrian, Jaime was standing here in the sweltering heat, under the canopy of a vast and slightly mildewy tent, watching fully grown men and women recoil from his presence.

Brienne had wanted to sit in the front and at that he balked. She took his hand then and ran her thumb over the knuckles and smiled at him.

“You are a better person than anyone here. You know that right?” She said, and kissed him lightly. “It’ll get better.”

“You don’t know that,” Jaime frowned as they sat in the back row. He tried to focus on the graduates, only to catch Beric Dondarrion of all people pointing at him. He sneered back. Dondarrion of all people, who should know what it felt like to have people stop and stare.

“I should go,” he mumbled. And where had Dondarrion been? Off shagging his boyfriend in Dorne, very helpful Beric, at least you managed to not die again.

“It’s too late to go, they’re already calling names,” Brienne pulled him down.

“HI!” Renly Baratheon’s face suddenly materialized at their feet.

“Who let you out?” Jaime scowled, considering stepping on him.

“Brienne, let me sit on your shoulders when they call Robert?”

“Of course Ren,” Brienne said easily. Jaime sniffed to show what he thought of spoiled little brats who used his girlfriend as a highchair.

“Robert Baratheon!” Principal Aemon announced, and then Renly proceeded to shriek like his life depended on it. When it became clear that Brienne was unwilling or unable to control the menace, Jaime finally managed to stifle him.

Was he the Grinch of graduations? Quite possibly.

“I LOVE YOU ROBERT!” Renly squirmed free. Jaime grabbed him by his stupidly trendy scarf and proceeded to cut off his air supply. On the other hand, wasn’t the Grinch just misunderstood?

Just in case Renly had any affection for any of Robert’s meat-headed friends, Jaime kept a firm grip on the scarf. Finally, the whole ridiculous ceremony was over. Only for the cherry on the whole rotten sundae.

Robert stepped to the mic, smoothing some notes and squinting like he had temporarily forgotten how to read. Or maybe he had never learned. Your graduation speaker, ladies and gentlemen. 

His speech sounded oddly familiar, especially the last part, and Jaime wondered if he had just ripped it out of some high school movie. What a farce.

The crowd seemed to enjoy it, naturally, like the pathetic lemmings that they were.

“Can you at least try to seem happy?” Brienne sighed.

“C’mon, we can beat the rush,” Jaime grabbed her hands, trying to pull her toward the parking lot. “I’m happy school’s over. Want to celebrate?” He nuzzled her neck.

“Jaime!” Brienne pushed him off. “I told Renly I’d go to Robert’s graduation party.” Jaime growled in frustration. He knew this party would come up. He should have strangled Renly when he had the chance.

“Technically,” Brienne said softly, turning to face him, eyes gentle. “I told him we’d both go.”

Jaime sighed.

“I’m not trying to push you into anything,” Brienne bit her lip. “I just thought if you would come, you might see that more people than you think believe you. You might even have a good time.”

“If you come to my house with me, I promise I’ll have a good time,” Jaime raised an eyebrow.

“I’m not going to tell you to come,” Brienne said as they got into the car. “If you really want I’ll just drop you at home. But I told Renly I’d come, and I don’t intend to let him down. And I know I’ll have a better time if you’re there,” she smiled. 

“You’re killing me wench,” Jaime rolled his eyes. “Next time,” he promised. Because Brienne might have faith in humanity but he did not, and if one more person pointed at him, he was going to break their finger and then see how they liked six months of rehab.

“You can always change your mind,” Brienne reminded him as she dropped him off.

“I don’t think you understand what it’s like to have everybody in the room staring at you and wondering what you’re even doing at a party and who the fuck invited you,” Jaime massaged his temples.

“I understand more than you would think,” Brienne crossed her arms, and to that, Jaime had no response.

“TYRION!” He shouted when he got home, but there was no answer. How dare his little brother not be there for him in his hour of need.

He poked his head in Cersei’s room. Nobody was there, although he raised an eyebrow to see a Barbie lying on the bed. Did his sister still play with dolls?

After an expeditionary wander through the house, he established that neither of his siblings were anywhere to be found. He was mildly surprised that Tyrion had managed to persuade Cersei to drive him to the party. Go figure. You could barely get them in the same room for more than ten minutes, but the moment Jaime was bored they went off adventuring together. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

Jaime sloped through the portrait gallery, glaring right back at all of his snooty relatives. Then he continued opening doors at random, although he had long since established that the only person in the house was Westerling.

Or that was he thought until he swung open the door to his father’s study and his father looked up at him in mild surprise.

“Hello Jaime, can I help you?”

“Um,” Jaime said uncertainly. Saying no, I was just opening and closing all of the doors in our house would definitely get his therapy sessions upped to twice a week.

“If you wish to search my office for any links to terrorism, I’ll have to ask that you wait for another day,” his father said drily.

Okay, maybe he deserved that. But speaking of...

“I’m sorry,” Jaime blurted. “About that. Thank you for trying to save my life.”

Tywin stared at him.

“... do you want some scotch?” His father asked finally. It was barely noon.

“Please,” Jaime said.

His father poured them both hefty glasses and then took the bottle with him and led Jaime out of his study and on to the back terrace. The stone patio looked down on the gardens where Jaime had kissed Brienne once, a lifetime ago. His father sat at on one of the iron wrought chairs and looked out. Jaime mimicked him, and took an awkward sip of his drink. He forced his face into stillness, though he found the drink intensely bitter.

“Stalling Aerys when I knew the police were minutes away was nothing, Jaime,” Tywin said finally. “I would sack cities for you. I would go to war for you. Any of you.”

Tywin Lannister. Terrifying even when he was trying to tell you he loved you.

“I know... I know I am not very suited to be a parent. I can push you to succeed, I can fight for you to have every opportunity, I can give you the best of everything. But I’m not good at knowing what makes you happy. I never have been, ask your aunt or your uncles,” Tywin looked down into his drink, swirling it absent-mindedly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to be happy.”

“Um thanks,” Jaime said awkwardly. “I appreciate that.”

There was a long pause.

“I think Brienne Tarth is a young lady of great maturity and integrity,” his father said curtly. Jaime waited for the other shoe to drop, but his father didn’t seem to have a follow up.

“Thanks,” Jaime said again, unable to suppress the flicker of a smile as he pictured Brienne’s face when he told her this conversation. She probably wouldn’t believe him.

“You make each other very happy and I think that’s something you should hold on to. You might not realize this, but we are given a finite number of moments to spend with the person we love. Sometimes fewer than we expect,” Tywin looked at him. 

Jaime knew he was not thinking about Brienne.

“I’m glad you approve,” he cleared his throat. “That will mean a lot to her.”

“Good,” his father frowned slightly. “But that isn’t actually why I’m bringing it up.”

“Oh?”

“Jaime,” Tywin set his glass down. “Stop moping and go to that party.”

“What?” Jaime nearly spit out his drink.

“The Baratheon graduation party. Are you really just going to leave your girlfriend to fend for herself?”

“How do you know about that party?!”

“Renly invited me.”

“What?!”

“Yes, he’s rather odd, isn’t he?”

“Odd doesn’t begin to describe it,” Jaime growled. When he caught up with that pipsqueak…

His father rolled his eyes.

“Fine,” Jaime scowled mutinously. A conspiracy, that’s what it was. He left his glass and stalked to the garage. Oh. Right. He traced back his steps.

“Are you still here?!” Tywin put his glass down again.

“Can I have a ride?” Jaime asked sheepishly.


	110. Beric (Graduation 4 of 9)

Beric woke up the morning of graduation to find Thoros’ arm slung over him and his face buried in his shoulder. He couldn’t help the stupid grin that spread over his face. 

“Hey get up,” he brushed the hair out of his boyfriend’s face. “Someone’s graduating today.”

Thoros groaned and tightened his grip around Beric.

“Pretty sure I graduate even if I don’t get up,” Thoros mumbled.

“But I don’t get to make a fool of myself cheering for my boyfriend,” Beric kissed him lightly on the forehead.

Thoros cracked an eye open.

“You used to be scared to hug me in public,” he yawned.

“I’m making up for lost time,” Beric smirked and pulled the sheets off him. Thoros curled into a ball. Beric sighed and traced a finger along his spine and Thoros shivered.

“If you can get up and get to graduation on time,” Beric leaned to whisper in his ear. “I promise to make it worth your while.”

“I’m up,” Thoros rolled over and smiled back at him. Beric gave him a quick kiss.

“I’m going to breakfast then. Are you going straight to Robert’s?”

“Yeah he said he’d drive me over,” Thoros stretched. Beric got dressed, aware that Thoros was still watching him lazily.

“You are getting out of bed right?”

“Pinkie swear.”

Beric rolled his eye and headed down to breakfast. Melisandre was sitting at the kitchen counter eating a bacon and eggs smiley face and chatting with his mother.

“I just think if he would admit what he actually felt—“

“Boys at that age, you’ve got your work cut out for you—“

Both turned to look at him as he entered.

“Hi Mom,” Beric said with a look at Melisandre. She was eating from HIS plate. “Hi Mel.”

“Good morning,” his mother said. Melisandre lifted her coffee mug in salute.

“Is there another plate?” Beric said politely. 

“Oh you can get it—anyway, if you push too hard he’ll just get stubborn, I’ve seen it a thousand times with Beric,” Ceylena Dondarrion turned back to Melisandre.

Beric got the plate down and some cutlery, clattering just a little harder than was necessary.

“Careful Beric, those are ceramic, they’ll chip,” Melisandre scolded.

Beric huffed and scraped his cold eggs and bacon onto the plate without replying, while his mother and Melisandre chatted away, completely ignoring his presence. He was happy that his mother and Melisandre had finally decided they liked each other. Truly. But did they have to like each other this much?

Breakfast done, he headed back upstairs to brush his teeth, only to nearly collide with his father, who heading to work.

“Sorry Beric,” Daric Dondarrion apologized. “Running late this morning I’m afraid. Tell Thoros I’m sorry I couldn’t be at the ceremony—I’ll take everybody out to dinner this weekend to celebrate.”

His father still seemed a little awkward about everything, but Beric appreciated that he was trying his best.

“No problem,” Beric said, and Daric ruffled his hair and headed out the door.

He was ready in accordance with the schedule that he had circulated to the family group last night, having taken in consideration King’s Landing traffic patterns at nine in the morning, the possibility of a higher volume of traffic as a result of multiple graduations, and budgeting that road work had shut down one of the highway lanes. He had further built in an additional fifteen minute buffer for miscellaneous delays.

Naturally his mother was two minutes late, and Melisandre showed up five minutes after that. But that was what the now-eight minute buffer was for.

“Mom, I think we should take the back roads because I’m looking at the satellite traffic reports and the highway is a zoo,” he said briskly. She turned the wrong direction. “Mom? Backroads!”

“I heard you, darling, but we’re picking up Stannis and Renly on the way.”

What?! This had not been accounted for in the schedule!

“They have eight minutes,” Beric growled. “Or we’re leaving without them.”

“Whatever you say, dear,” Ceylena responded absent-mindedly as Melisandre ambled into the house to fetch them.

Eight minutes came and went, with nary a Baratheon in sight. 

“I’ll be right back,” Beric scowled. If they made him late to Thoros’ graduation, he would do something terrible. What, he wasn’t quite sure, but it would be awful to behold. He found Melisandre lying on Stannis’ bed, as Stannis studied his appearance in a mirror.

“Admit what,” Stannis was saying sulkily.

“You’re anxious about Robert going off to college and leaving you, and it’s had you in a terrible mood all day,” Melisandre sniffed.

Stannis turned to look at Beric, who immediately regretted coming into this room at all. Carefully avoiding eye contact with either one of them, he mumbled something about finding Renly and escaped.

“Hullo Beric,” Renly smiled brightly when Beric finally found him. “How do you like my outfit?” 

He was wearing a formal jacket and what looked like breeches with a scarf. Beric, who would have described Robert’s fashion sense as ‘casual’ and Stannis’ as ‘conservative’, was at a loss for words. Fortunately, Renly did not seem to require a response.

“It is great, isn’t it?”

“Time to go,” Beric said firmly, and put one arm on his shoulder to forcibly march him to the car.

There was another ten minutes of waiting, and Beric was fairly squirming by the time Melisandre and Stannis showed up, looking decidedly askew.

“Stannis and Melly, sitting in a tree!” Renly began chanting from the back, before Stannis tackled him and they could finally get on the road.

Naturally they showed up with barely enough time to get to the tent, but fortunately everybody knew the front row seats filled in last and Beric might not have had the agility and toughness he had before the motorcycle crash, but he was still plenty fast. He grabbed five seats in the fourth row and held them hostage through icy glares at anyone who approached to ask if they were available.

They had practically called the first name by the time his party made it, but he could see Thoros still in line on the edge of the stage. Poor Thoros looked really nervous, messing about on his cell phone and stepping out of line. Beric couldn’t really picture Thoros with stage fright, but that just meant he had to clap even louder! He was sure if Thoros saw him making a fool of himself in the crowd, that would completely distract from his nerves.

“Thoros Asshai!” Principal Aemon said, and as everybody started clapping politely, Beric clambered on top of his chair, whooping and making as loud of a ruckus as he possibly could. 

“Beric!” His mother was whispering. “Beric! Get down from there, you’ll hurt yourself!”

Thoros was standing next to Barristan Selmy, holding his diploma, waiting for the applause to stop. Their eyes met and Thoros gave him a sheepish smile (though he still looked terribly uncomfortable), and Beric beamed back.

“Beric!” His mother finally managed to tug him down, but Beric was still grinning like his face might split in two. After everything that had happened, Thoros deserved some unadulterated happiness, and he had worked so hard in school this year, and maybe Beric was overcompensating, but he wanted Thoros to know how ridiculously proud he was of him.

“Beric, people are staring! Have some decorum!” His mother scolded. Beric winced, but then on the other side, he felt Melisandre lay her head on top of his shoulder.

The rest of the ceremony was otherwise unmemorable. Robert acquitted himself well on the graduation speech, although it didn’t somehow sound like him... Beric wondered if he had cribbed from some politician or something, the cadence was oddly familiar. 

“Let’s go KLP!” Robert finally shouted into the microphone, lifting his arms like he’d just thrown the game winning touchdown. That at least sounded like him, and his audience roared in approval. As Beric’s group slowly shuffled for the exit, Beric realized it had been at least a month since he had gone anywhere but the Baratheon manor on a Saturday. He wondered if perhaps Robert were not slightly nervous about college—he certainly seemed determined to surround himself with as many people as possible at all times.

Speaking of which... his phone buzzed with a text from Robert Baratheon.

_Hey, it’s Thoros, lost phone, flask, wallet and clothes, can you bring a set from home, emergency, will explain later_

Beric shook his head.

“C’mon,” Beric nudged his mom. “We have to beat the traffic to the afterparty.” 

“It’s only noon. Are you sure there’s an after party?” Ceylena Dondarrion asked. 

“It’s Robert,” Stannis sighed. “There’s always an after party.” 

“I’ll come home with you Mom, Thoros lost um... a few things.”

Melisandre immediately looked at him in the rear view mirror suspiciously. Beric tried to look innocent. Melisandre appeared unconvinced. Ceylena Dondarrion pulled in to the front driveway, only to see several recently graduated seniors holding a lighter to their textbooks.

With a groan, Stannis hopped out of the car, waving at Robert who was drinking on the second floor roof deck.

“FIRE! Robert, get those assholes to put that fire out!!!”

Robert looked befuddled for a moment, and then spotted the ground directly below him. The angle of the balcony blocked what exactly he proceeded to do, but the group scatted as a long stream of clear-yellow liquid splattered down on them.

“Did he just...” Ceylena Dondarrion began looking vaguely ill.

“Pour his beer on them? Yup!” Beric interjected and tried to look innocent. His mother looked unconvinced.

“Melisandre and Renly were just getting out,” Beric continued quickly to distract her. Melisandre and Renly looked at each other.

“Getting out right now,” Beric growled. Melisandre and Renly got out.

“Steffon and Cassana know about this party, right?” Ceylena asked as she drove him back to the house.

Probably?

“Definitely,” Beric assured her. “I’m just going to grab Thoros’ swim trunks, thanks for coming,” he kissed her on the cheek.

“Tell him how excited we are,” Ceylena called after him and Beric waved. He grabbed Thoros’ swim trunks, flip flops, a t shirt, and the handle of rum on his desk. Lorathi rum? Gross.

Fumbling slightly to get the back porch door open, Beric stumbled out onto the beach, trying to look around the pile of clothes in his arms to see where the path was.

“Pssst!”

Beric turned. That had sounded like Thoros. 

“Over here!”

Was he… under the dock?

“What are you doing?” Beric walked over. Thoros was still wearing his graduation robe and immediately sighed with relief when he saw the clothes in Beric’s arm.

“Hiding. If someone asks me one more time why I’m still wearing this stupid robe…” 

“Right,” Beric tried to conceal a grin. Thoros raised an eyebrow to show he had not been entirely successful in that endeavor and then grabbed for the swim trunks. Beric skipped back.

“Why in such a rush?” He teased. “I feel like you owe me a story first.”

Thoros glared. 

“At least give me the rum. It’s been a long morning.”

Beric relented and Thoros took a long swig.

“I found a note in my flask to go to the men’s locker room and I thought it was from you! I thought you wanted to… um… you know… so I ditched everything but the graduation robes in the hallway. But it was Cersei!”

“Cersei Lannister?!” Beric frowned. Ever since the Elia Martell debacle, he had given up trying to predict which girls would be attracted to Thoros and decided to be uniformly suspicious of all of them, but even so…

“Not like that though, thank the Lord. She told me she’d gotten me some four-year scholarship to college, which was cool I guess, but when I came out of the locker room, Oberyn Martell had stolen all my shit!”

“Four year scholarship?” Beric goggled.

“Oberyn better watch his back, after all that shit we had to bail him out of in Myr, and now this?! We are going to have a really long talk—”

“Like all expenses paid?”

“And I bet Ellaria fucking Sand won’t think he’s nearly so pretty when I’m done with him—”

“Anywhere you want?”

“And maybe I did give his number to that Nymeria chick, but he DESERVED it, and now thinks he’s so fucking funny, we’ll see if he’s still laughing after this—”

“Woah,” Beric sighed. “Calm down. I will get your wallet and your phone and your flask back.”

“You?” Thoros looked doubtful.

“Me,” Beric poked him gently. “I can do stuff you know. You’re clearly obsessing about Oberyn’s stupid practical joke to avoid thinking about the scholarship.”

“I am not,” Thoros sulked.

“So what’s the issue? It’s a good thing right?”

“I guess,” Thoros said doubtfully. “But what if I don’t get in anywhere good? What if I don’t get in anywhere close to you? Melisandre thinks I’m going to be here until she’s eighteen. How can I just leave her in King’s Landing by herself? When I didn’t have the money to go, none of this stuff mattered. It’s just… it’s just a lot to worry about.”

“Hey,” Beric gave him a small smile. “You have a whole year to worry about it. You can still wait two years to apply if you like. And there’s lots of great schools here in King’s Landing if you don’t want to wait. We’ll figure it out together,” he hugged him until he felt Thoros slowly relaxing in his arms.

“Just enjoy the party, yeah? You’re a high school graduate!” Beric swiped the handle of rum and took a sip, trying not to crinkle his nose at the peculiar Lorathi taste.

“Don’t remind me,” Thoros leaned against Beric. “I just accepted my diploma nude.” 

“Speaking of which…” Beric smiled down at him. And then dropped to his knees in the sand, so he was smiling up at him. “What exactly did you expect to happen in that locker room?”


	111. Davos (Graduation 5 of 9)

“Are you sure it’s okay if we go?” Marya said anxiously, checking her reflection in the rear view mirror for the third or fourth time. “I don’t even go to your school, I don’t even know this guy.”

“It’s fine,” Davos pecked her on the cheek reassuringly. “I’m pretty sure Robert doesn’t know half the people who will turn up. And I’ve been coming here for years.”

“Will Stannis and Melisandre be there?” Marya asked hopefully.

“Definitely,” Davos said and then sighed as he was forced to park well away from the house. The Baratheon driveway might have been long and grand, but not even the Baratheon opulence could contain the flotilla of cars that were overflowing onto the street. “Looks like we’re hoofing it from here.”

“Don’t just disappear with Stannis,” Marya said as she hopped out. “I don’t know a soul, and knowing me I’d probably say something awful to the wrong person and embarrass myself.”

Davos winced. He actually did need to talk to Stannis to get this summer internship nailed down, but had been procrastinating hard on bringing it up. First his friend had been in the hospital, then he was dealing with all the press, and then in the week leading up to graduation Stannis had been unusually grumpy, even when adjusted to account for Stannis’ baseline level of grumpiness.

And yes, maybe it was super awkward to ask your best friend for a favor of this magnitude. An internship could lead to a job, could lead to a career... It wasn’t a handout exactly, but a paid internship was closer to charity than Davos could easily stomach, unless it was a hundred percent Stannis offering of his own free will. All of this meant that Davos didn’t want to come straight out and remind him. He would just maybe lay some subtle reminders. That would probably work. He couldn’t tell Marya all of this of course, because she would just tell him that he was being silly with all his beating around the bush. But she had never had a friend who had done as much for her as Stannis, would never be able to understand how much he owed him.

“You won’t embarrass yourself,” Davos comforted her instead, sliding his arm around her waist and pulling her close. She always smelled like home—flowers and laundry detergent and spring. “These kids aren’t any different from the kids in Flea Bottom, you’ll see.”

They were walking up to the front door, where Beric Dondarrion appeared to be scolding Mace Tyrell. Unfortunately, the two were directly blocking the entrance.

“Oberyn made me promise to keep it all night,” Mace was pleading.

“Well I think you should wonder whether you’re more scared of breaking a promise to Oberyn or what your mother will do when she finds out you married a prostitute!”

“Beric!” Mace gasped. “What happens in Myr...”

“Can be front page of Varys’ blog tomorrow,” Beric growled. 

“Hi guys,” Davos said uneasily, trying to maneuver Marya around them.

“She wasn’t a prostitute,” Mace assured them, as he handed Beric a wallet and a red sweatshirt. “She was a blackjack dealer.”

“Um right,” Davos said diplomatically, tugging a wide-eyed Marya along.

“And don’t listen to Beric, it wasn’t my first time,” Mace said.

“Uh huh,” Davos opened the door and pushed Marya inside.

“And there’s nothing weird about the size of my penis!” Mace yelled after them.

“I see what you mean,” Marya whispered in his ear. “Completely normal.”

“Well um they’re both only children,” Davos scratched his head. “And I think they have some mommy issues.”

“You’re an only child,” Marya gave him a doubtful look. 

“But no mommy issues,” Davos crossed his heart jokingly.

“And there’s nothing weird about the size of your penis,” Marya winked. Davos blushed.

“Let’s see if we can find Stannis and Melisandre,” he mumbled.

They found them by the pool talking to Brienne Tarth. Melisandre and Brienne were both sipping beers. Stannis was drinking water.

“Look who finally made it,” Melisandre smiled.

“Someone couldn’t find his teddy bear,” Davos explained, shooting a sidelong look at Marya. Maybe because he was an only child, he didn’t fully understand her constant babying of her siblings. But he had learned to give the subject a wide berth in conversation and to just treat it as one of life’s great unknowable mysteries.

“The party seems like it’s been a success without us,” he looked around. Even by Robert’s standards, the party was enormous. Did some of these kids even go here?

“I’ve called a cleaning service to come by tomorrow,” Stannis said moodily. “If mother and father can’t be bothered to show up for Robert’s graduation, they’re not going to notice another line on his credit card bill.”

“I’m sure they feel just awful about missing it,” Brienne said quickly. “I know how upset my father would be. Graduation is such an important transition point in your life! Everything changes!”

“Everything doesn’t need to change,” Stannis snapped back just as quickly.

“I mean Robert’s going off to the Aerie! That’s thousands of miles away! Renly already set up a weekly Skype call with him and updated Robert’s calendar to remind him automatically so he won’t forget. You’ll be lucky if he even makes it home for winter break, you know how treacherous some of those mountain passes can get, one bad avalanche and he’ll be stuck on campus through New Years...” Brienne stopped talking as Stannis abruptly walked away from the group and back into the house. 

“Oh dear, did I say something to offend him?” She bit her lip. Melisandre looked bored and Marya looked nonplussed. Davos privately shared Brienne’s dismay. He hadn’t even gotten to bring up their summer plans once! 

“Don’t worry about it,” Melisandre shook her head pityingly. “He’s gotten all twisted up about Robert leaving and he won’t admit it because the Lord forbid they actually acknowledge that they don’t hate each other.”

“I should go talk to him,” Davos said, still more focused on figuring out whether he needed to be hitting up Sal for some extra hours. “You’re good here, right Marya?”

Her dark head was already bent towards Melisandre’s red and Brienne’s blonde crowns, and Davos had to smile.

He found Stannis shooing people away from his parents’ liquor cabinet.

“The beverages are outside, if you wanted top-shelf, you should have brought it!” Stannis was lecturing a sheepish looking Randall Tarly and an utterly unrepentant Roose Bolton.

“Need any help?” Davos asked cheerfully as the two seniors—graduates, Davos corrected himself—ambled away.

“There is some number of people at which point any party reaching that number will dissolve into anarchy,” Stannis growled, glaring after the two. “I think Robert has found that number, I really do.”

“Maybe he’s nervous about leaving?” Davos offered. “He has been throwing an awful lot of parties. Like he’s overcompensating.”

“Robert is not nervous about leaving,” Stannis scowled. “He’s completely excited to play division one college football and take no classes and hook up with college girls. It’s all he’s ever wanted.”

”That doesn’t mean he won’t miss you,” Davos offered. Stannis huffed.

Sensing he would not get any further toward resolving Stannis’ issue, he decided to put out feelers for his own problem.

“So what are you going to be up to this summer?”

“Working at Stormsend,” Stannis said promptly. Davos waited a beat for more of a response. When it became clear that Stannis wasn’t going to say anything further, he mentally sighed.

“Will I be seeing a lot of you?” He tried again.

“We always see a lot of each other,” Stannis arched an eyebrow. Davos ground his teeth.

“Sal’s been asking whether I’m available to do some runs across the Narrow Sea,” he said feebly.

“I hope you said no,” Stannis frowned.

“Because…” Davos’ face began to brighten.

“What he does is illegal and dangerous?” Stannis supplied. Davos’ face fell.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Davos mumbled. “I guess I should probably be looking for a summer job where I’m not in danger of being arrested.”

“You could always try Hollow Hill,” Stannis said musingly. “If Thoros and Clegane can get jobs there, how hard can it be?”

Davos who had spent his life figuring out ways to avoid fights winced at the idea of being a bouncer at the sketchiest bar not literally in Flea Bottom. 

“Melisandre said she got a job at the new boutique that opened up on the Street of Steel,” Stannis said. Davos looked down at the hole in his shoe, which he kept meaning to fix. Was Stannis serious?! 

“Beric’s tutoring for the standardized tests—he got like a perfect score already,” Stannis suggested. Davos glared at him. Stannis KNEW he’d had to retake the middle school ones like eight times to qualify for KLP.

“Oh! I’ve got it,” Stannis snapped his fingers.

“What?” Davos growled.

“Selyse Florent was looking to hire a personal assistant for the summer. You know somebody to drive her places and carry her shopping bags and clean her room for her and curate her social media…” Stannis was still talking, but Davos stared at him dumbfounded.

“You… ass! You’re totally pulling my leg!” Davos finally blurted, cutting short Stannis’ monologue about the menial chores he could do for his least favorite person.

Stannis smirked.

“What did Melisandre tell you about joking?! No jokes!!!” Davos crossed his arms. “You always take it way too far and you’re too deadpan and it’s stressful for everybody but you!”

“You thought I forgot about the internship!” Stannis protested. “C’mon, admit you deserved that just a little bit. You’re my best friend. Obviously you’re working at Stormsend Shipping with me this summer.”

Davos couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face.

“You’re serious? Promise?”

“Of course. The only condition is that Renly and Robert each get to haze you with one stupid request.” 

“Wait really?” Davos cocked his head. “Are you messing with me again?”

“You said no jokes,” Stannis huffed. “And I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have had to promise at them at all, except I needed Robert to persuade Renly to throw a screaming tantrum when my parents said no internships for people outside the family. And then I needed to persuade Renly to have another one to make it a paid internship. They were really excited about it. If they ask for anything too crazy, come get me.”

Davos groaned. Still, it was worth it.

He went back to where the girls were still chatting, since he had promised not to abandon Marya to hang out with Stannis and then proceeded to do exactly that.

“I have to talk to Renly Baratheon, want to come?” He asked. 

“Sure, I’ll catch you girls later,” Marya smiled at Melisandre and Brienne. Clearly they had done some work to smooth over the Beric and Mace incident, whatever that was, and Stannis storming off mid conversation. She might just enjoy this party after all.

Davos spotted Renly. Or not.

Renly was with Tyrion Lannister by a keg. They were trying to do keg stands, but of course both were far too small to hold the other up over the keg. So instead they were taking turns putting the nozzle in their mouth and then trying to do a handstand while the other turned the tap.

Tyrion last about two seconds in the precarious position before toppling over, laughing hysterically.

“My turn, my turn!” Renly was clapping his hands. Marya, who had six younger siblings, several in the eight to twelve range, looked aghast to see them drinking. 

“Davos!” She hissed, digging her hand into his arm.

“Okay boys, don’t you know when you’ve drunk enough?” Davos tried to sound stern. Tyrion looked up at him with a smile, green eyes a little unfocused.

“Davos? It is Davos isn’t it?” Davos nodded in the affirmative. “That’s what I do, I drink and I know things,” Tyrion waggled his finger at him. “Therefore, I would absolutely know when I’d drunk enough. So you let me worry about that and you can worry about whatever it is you do.”

He almost made it to the end of the speech before dissolving into giggles, which Renly promptly joined.

“What is it that you do Davos?” Tyrion looked up cheekily.

“Today he does things for me and Robert,” Renly broke in. 

“One thing! One thing each!” Davos protested, feeling like this situation was somehow spiraling out of hand and Marya was not looking very impressed.

“Well my one thing is to deliver a message to Robert. Hang on,” Renly pulled out a pen and wrote something on a folded bit of paper. He showed it to Tyrion and they both dissolved into another round of giggles. Why did Davos have a bad feeling about this?

“No reading it,” Renly said with a mock scowl. “Discretion is a very important part of working at Stormsend Shipping.” 

“Ugh, fine,” Davos jammed the note into his pocket. 

“Robert’s on the roof deck,” Renly said cheerfully. 

“If you know where he is, why don’t you deliver the message yourself?” Davos said suspiciously.

“Promptness is also a very important part of working at Stormsend Shipping,” Renly raised an eyebrow and looked at his watch. Davos narrowed his eyes, but turned back to the house.

“Davos!” Marya whispered under her breath. “You can’t just leave them with the keg! They’re like five!”

“I’ll explain later,” Davos muttered back. “But the black haired one is eight and the blonde one is twelve.”

“Your children are going to walk all over you,” Marya gave back flatly.

“Our children,” Davos corrected slyly, and it was worth it to see her blush. All the same, if he wanted her to stick around for the children, she probably should not meet Robert. If Stannis had made a bad impression and Renly had made a terrible impression, he shuddered to think of what fully-party mode Robert was capable of.

“Why don’t you just powder your nose for a second,” Davos suggested, spotting a bathroom. Perfect. “You just go in there for a second, and I’ll be right back.”

“Powder my nose?” Marya frowned. Davos pushed her gently inside.

“What are you doing? Why don’t you want me coming?” Marya demanded.

“Just a second, I’ll be back before you know it, just trust me, it’s for the best this way,” Davos patted her hand and shut the door before she could murder him by death glare.

“DAVOS!”

He pulled a chair in front of the bathroom door, just to be safe.


	112. Cersei (Graduation 6 of 9)

Cersei didn’t care.

She had said she would make it up to him when she dumped him in front of everybody, that’s all. A Lannister always paid their debts. That’s why when she overheard Robert telling Stannis and Davos of his intention to “just wing” the graduation speech (she wasn’t eavesdropping, her shoelace just happened to come untied in the parking lot one car behind them), Cersei knew that it had once more fallen upon her to save the day.

So she had written a beautiful graduation speech, and then under the pretense of speaking to Clegane about washing her car at lunch, she had casually slipped the page into Robert’s open knapsack.

There was no reason to go to graduation of course. It’s not like she knew any of the seniors except Robert that well. She was sure he had found the speech, and would do a perfectly adequate job delivering it and that everything would go according to plan. How much could Robert really mess things up?

He somehow managed to fail his chemistry final, even though Cersei had told him a dozen times that science was his worst subject and he needed to study harder. So she’d made Lysa Tully come with her to the study hall that Jon Arryn was proctoring and sat them in the front row. She had noticed that Jon Arryn had a tendency to stare in Lysa Tully’s direction (really, he was twice her age!), thus ensuring she had his undivided attention. She then proceeded to talk very loudly about what a good brother Robert was and how he’d been at the hospital with Stannis all week and hadn’t had time to study for any of his finals and it was so unfair that nobody was letting him retake that test he’d failed. By the time Jon Arryn had excused himself to make a phone call, bustling with purpose (and probably some gross schoolgirl fantasies as well), Cersei knew she had at least managed to put out that fire.

But Robert absolutely couldn’t be trusted to make a mess of things, that much was clear.

That was when she had remembered that she really owed Thoros Asshai a good deed for beating up Euron Greyjoy. And her father had never used that scholarship he had created to break Jaime and Brienne up. It was a shame that it was already finals week, for that provided no time to catch Thoros in the halls. But he was a senior who happened to be graduating. 

Only she couldn’t just text him to meet her. Who knew who he would show a text to? She could just picture Robert puzzling over it over a pint of beer. No, if she was going to attend graduation, to give Thoros the scholarship out of the generosity of her heart and for no other reason, it was quite clear that nobody else could know she was there. She had to send him an invitation that he was guaranteed to keep firmly to himself.

The solution was obviously to hire Beric Dondarrion for an hour of standardized test prep. He was actually rather good, and Cersei made a note to run through some math problems with him this summer, but more importantly she had several pages worth of his handwriting to copy from. That made forging the note easy. Putting it somewhere where only Thoros would find it, in the window before the seniors actually walked was trickier.

There was no help for it. She needed an inside man.

“So you’ll bring me his flask the second he puts his backpack down when he gets to Robert’s?” She asked Renly.

“Of course,” Renly said cheerfully. “But you have to drive Tyrion to the party. I want someone my own age to drink with.”

“You mean play with?” Cersei corrected absently.

“...sure,” Renly said.

“I’ll park at that beach trailhead down the road. You won’t be gone for more than ten minutes,” Cersei continued.

“Okay,” Renly shrugged. His lack of interest was suspicious.

“You’re not going to ask me why I need Thoros’ flask?” Cersei probed.

“It’s because you’re in love with Robert,” Renly answered, looking utterly disinterested.

“Love?! ROBERT?!” Cersei sputtered. “Don’t be absurd! It’s obviously so I can discretely arrange a meetup so I can give Thoros a scholarship my father just created and abandoned.”

“Because...” Renly prompted.

“I’m a nice person!” Cersei crossed her arms.

“If you say so,” Renly shrugged.

“I do!” Cersei glared.

“I would have said it was so you had an excuse to attend Robert’s graduation. You could just come to the party with Tyrion. I know you were invited,” Renly raised an eyebrow. 

“I dumped him! How it would look if I came to his party with only a mass text invite?” Cersei scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You’re right,” Renly rolled his eyes. “I’m the one who’s ridiculous.”

Cersei made a mental note to take Renly down a peg or two at the earliest possible opportunity.

On Saturday morning, she woke up in time for family breakfast at 8am. As she did every morning, she dampened her hair with a special eucalyptus infused mist and then blew it dry before giving it exactly fifty strokes of a flat brush. Then she did the same for Malibu Barbie.

“You think I’m doing the right thing, don’t you?” Cersei casually asked Malibu Barbie. Of course she did. Malibu Barbie hadn’t gotten her seaside manor and custom pink convertible staying with her high school boyfriend. 

But that just made her think about how sweet it had been of Robert to replace her Barbie as a birthday present after all these years. At his core, he was a nice person. Self-centered, oblivious, prone to temper tantrums, but underneath all of that was a sweetness that nobody understood. Was it just her or did Malibu Barbie look vaguely judgmental?

“Bitch,” Cersei sniffed, and tossed her back on the bed.

Cersei proceeded to breakfast with her family as usual and she lounged about in the pool as usual, as if she didn’t have anywhere to be. 

Jaime really was being such a child about the whole Kingslayer moniker. Of course it was a terrible situation to find oneself in, there was no denying that, but he refused to admit that the situation was eminently fixable. Which was quite different from her own situation, and she didn’t appreciate the looks Jaime and Tyrion gave her, which were similar to the look that Renly had given her and completely unnecessary.

Fortunately Jaime huffed off in a snit, and naturally Tyrion followed as they didn’t spend more time alone in each others’ presence than could be helped. That left her quite conveniently alone, last seen sunning herself on a pool float as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

She threw on some jeans and drove the Range Rover over to the Stormlands. Since Brienne was picking Jaime up, she knew it would not be missed. After a few minutes of patiently waiting at the trailhead, Renly showed up flask in hand. She dumped it out. Lorathi rum? Ugh. Then she folded the note and slipped it inside.

“Don’t read it,” she warned Renly.

“I don’t care what you and Robert do with your time,” Renly sighed. 

“The note is for Thoros!” Cersei snapped.

“The note is to Thoros,” Renly replied with an impish smile, but Cersei had no idea what point he was trying to make.

From there, she drove to the school, parking in one of the dreaded overflow lots so that nobody would see her fairly recognizable car. After that, she stealthily made her way onto school grounds through a less used side entrance. Since nobody was actually in the school itself, she could relax and have a fairly leisurely walk to the men’s locker room, where she pulled out a book and decided to read until Thoros showed up.

Renly’s point about the party rankled her. Was she really only worthy of a mass text? Not just that, it was the same mass text he’d been sending practically every night! If she were to take back a boy she had dumped in front of the entire school, it wouldn’t be for anything less than public groveling. The idea of settling for less was just too distasteful. 

And why would she take back Robert anyway? It didn’t make any sense. There was nobody on the planet less capable of a long-distance relationship. He would absolutely cheat on her and that would be insulting and miserable. She didn’t gain anything by dating him. He was handsome and wealthy, but if she wanted to be CEO of Lannister Corp, she needed to date someone her father approved of and who did not come saddled with his own family business that was ripe with conflicts of interest. Dating Robert had been fun. That’s all. More fun that she had expected, honestly, since it still infuriated her father and Jaime, and it turned out she actually liked hanging out with him and the sex was really great. But high school was for fun. College was for that important match to an older and possibly titled Essosi banker who could bankroll their company’s expansion plans and impress her father and be brilliant and cultured and worship the ground she walked on.

But if she did that, who would look after Robert? Oh Ned would do his best, she knew that, but what none of them understood was that if you treated him like a child he would act like a child because he was lazy. If you pushed him and held him to clearly articulated standards, he might actually make something out of himself after he had blown out his knee or torn his rotator cuff or gotten whatever horrendous career ending football injury he would in all likelihood get after a few years in the pros.

Take for example, that he had some asinine idea about majoring in psychology because the football players at the Aerie had told him it was easy. It was obvious to anyone with half a brain that he needed to major in political science. Then he could capitalize on his fame as a professional athlete, his family money and his local popularity as the hero of Robert’s Rebellion to run for public office in King’s Landing. He would be such a good politician if someone halfway intelligent would just write him some decent talking points...

She was cut off in this train of thought by the arrival of Thoros whose broad grin quickly vanished when he saw who had actually summoned him. He was not particularly grateful and seemed slow to wrap his head around the whole scholarship concept (too much drinking killed the brain cells, and since when had Ned ever been good about curbing Robert’s drinking habit) and when she explained that there was no catch, but if he wanted to get her an actual invitation to the party later it’s not like she would stop him... well his expression had been oddly reminiscent of Renly, Tyrion and Jaime.

Since Thoros didn’t know whether Robert had prepared the speech she had written for him or not, she was clearly left with no choice but to go to graduation itself. Or rather climb a tree on the far side of the soccer field and pull out the binoculars that she kept in her purse for similar situations. Fortunately the sound system could be heard even from her perch, although even if she hadn’t been able to hear, she would have known exactly where Robert was in the speech because she had committed it to memory. As she mouthed the words along with him, it occurred to her that she could probably get Tyrion to promise some future favor to her in exchange for driving him to Robert’s party if she acted suitably disinterested, without even knowing that she had promised Renly she would do the same.

That of course meant scampering to the car the moment that the ceremony ended, because Jaime couldn’t see her as he was exiting and he’d been skulking in the back row like he wasn’t seated next to the world’s tallest freshman.

She’d parked the car in the garage, slipped in through the backdoor, changed back into her bathing suit and by the time she casually knocked on Tyrion’s door, she had the appearance of someone who had been lounging by the pool all day.

“If I did drive you to your stupid party, what would you do for me?” Cersei drawled when Tyrion opened the door and scrutinized her.

“What do you want?” Tyrion tilted his head.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Cersei tapped her lip in the pretense of thought.

“Let’s negotiate in the car,” Tyrion could barely conceal his smile, thinking he was catching her at a rare disadvantage.

“Let me just grab a cover up,” Cersei shrugged as if she didn’t care at all.

By the time she had pulled up to the Baratheon manor, Tyrion had agreed to provide her with an alibi to father no fewer than three times. Tyrion’s alibis were more valuable than Jaime’s, partially because he was a better liar and partially because their father knew they never helped each other if they had any other opportunity.

“Okay, run along then,” Cersei sighed when she reached the house.

“You’re not coming in?” Tyrion raised an eyebrow.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Cersei admitted. Just then there was as a knock at the car window and Renly opened the door beaming.

“Well two out of four isn’t bad. What’d your father say?”

“About what?” Tyrion frowned.

“About the party invitation I sent him!” Renly put his hands on his hips as if it were the most obvious question in the world.

“You invited our father?!” Cersei asked horrified.

“Why?!” Tyrion was clearly in the same camp.

“For fun. Because he’s cute,” Renly smirked. Cersei and Tyrion looked at each other. Cersei wondered whether it was really safe to leave her little brother in the hands of a lunatic. While she debated how much she cared about Tyrion’s safety, he had apparently decided that anybody was better than her for he had hopped out of the car to follow Renly.

“Father isn’t CUTE,” Tyrion nearly shuddered the word as he and Renly began walking to the backyard.

Maybe she would just have a quick word with Robert. Congratulate him on graduating, warn him that Renly might need medication or glasses, the usual thing. As long as nobody saw her, that would be fine right?

“Robert’s drinking on the roof deck,” Renly shouted over his shoulder. Cersei glared and he gave her his sweetest most innocent smile.

To avoid the crowds already milling in the ground floor and clogging the main staircase, Cersei climbed the latticework on the back porch to get to a second floor window. She pushed a couple until she found a guest room that was open and swung herself in. 

Naturally, that was the moment when she heard giggling voices outside the door. Being caught at Robert’s party alone in an empty room? No thank you. Cersei ducked into the closet, leaving it open just a crack. Seconds later the happy and already tipsy couple staggered in.

It was Arthur Dayne and Elia Martell, and Cersei raised an eyebrow to see sweet innocent little Elia’s legs curling around his waist as he carried her in and deposited her on the bed. She had never liked her—as boring and bookish as Catelyn Tully, and even worse at the Center Table games, what had Rhaegar ever seen in her—but with all that happened, Cersei supposed she was owed some joy. 

“Arthur! This is someone’s house!” Elia laughed. Arthur was two years older than her—three years above Cersei—with the same black hair and purple eyes as all the Daynes and a build like Robert’s. In short, he was dishy, and Cersei mentally rooted for him to take his shirt off.

“It’s Robert’s house. Something tells me he doesn’t mind,” Arthur gave a slow deep laugh, crawling on the bed toward Elia and then kissing her. They (and Cersei) were so caught up in their make out session that nobody noticed the door of the guest room once more swinging stealthily noticed. It wasn’t until Beric stuck his head in that Cersei registered his presence. Ugh, go away! She thought. Arthur hasn’t taken off his shirt yet!

But oddly, Beric seemed to have no intention of interrupting them. Instead he had dropped to the floor and started slowly inching his way across the room, out of view from the bed. Upon reaching Arthur’s backpack, he quietly opened it and extracted a pair of boxers.

Was Beric Dondarrion actually a huge pervert? Cersei was rather thrown. She’d let him into her house! Who knows what he’d taken! She would have to do an underwear check later tonight.

But Beric still seemed focused on Arthur’s backpack rather than the bed, even as Arthur’s shirt was finally lifted over his head.

“I can’t believe high school’s finally over,” Elia giggled, running her hands down Arthur’s sides. He caught one hand and kissed it.

“How do you want to celebrate?” 

Beric had meanwhile withdrawn a silver flask from Arthur Dayne’s backpack. Wait a minute, she recognized that flask, she’d been holding it earlier that morning! Why did Arthur Dayne have Thoros’ flask?! And how had he gotten it so easily? In the true Robert Baratheon mold, Thoros was almost never without it.

Beric was now sneaking for the door, when disaster struck. Elia pushed Arthur backwards on the bed, abruptly giving him a view of the rest of the room rather than the headboard. A view which included...

“What the fuck Dondarrion?!?!”

Elia screamed and Beric averted his gaze, now blushing furiously directly at the closet.

“This isn’t what it looks like, I can explain,” Beric stammered.

“It looks like you’re a peeping Tom,” Dayne cracked his knuckles.

“I’m not! I only came... because... because...” 

Maybe because Cersei’s view of the panic and mortification on Beric’s face was so clear, or because she needed to escape this room at some point or because she knew that Elia was the opposite of a gossip, she relented.

“Because I told him to,” she sighed, stepping out of the closet. Elia screamed again. Arthur and Beric looked equally dumbfounded.

“I didn’t realize this room would be occupied darling,” she took Beric’s hand. “We can find somewhere else.” She gave him a light tug toward the door to get him moving, as he appeared utterly frozen in place, still clutching the flask in one hand.

“You and BERIC?” Elia spluttered. 

“Woah, nice,” Arthur patted Beric on the shoulder. And you’re nice too, Cersei mentally added. Beric only opened his mouth and shut it again, looking vaguely like a goldfish.

“But Beric...” Elia began. Is gay? Has a boyfriend? Looks like a scarecrow somebody left in a field? Cersei mentally finished while simultaneously preparing retorts for each one.

“...you know, never mind,” Elia mumbled. Maybe that whole Rhaegar thing had clouded Cersei’s judgment. She seemed like a nice sensible young lady after all.

“Toodles,” Cersei said drily and tugged at Beric again. When he still seemed rooted to the ground, she pinched his bottom. With an ‘eep!’ he lunged forward.

“So eager,” Cersei giggled and allowed herself to be dragged out the door.

“What was that?!” Beric hissed when they were out the door.

“I know right? Who would have thought Elia had it in her?” Cersei laughed.

“Not that,” Beric said through gritted teeth. “Why were you in a closet?! Why did you make it seem like we were...” he fumbled for the right word. “making love?!” 

It’s a miracle he got laid at all if that’s what he called it. He was so oddly old-fashioned that Cersei wanted to pat his cheek and suggest some chamomile tea to soothe his nerves.

“Why were you sneaking into that room when they were clearly having sex? That’s way weirder Beric. I just got stuck when they came in and didn’t want to ruin the moment,” Cersei waved a hand. “Until I graciously decided to rescue you.”

“Oberyn hid Thoros’ flask in Arthur’s backpack and I was getting it back,” Beric scowled ferociously.

“How did he get his flask in the first place?” Cersei frowned. She wondered if Oberyn had enlisted Renly as well.

“He was... you know, that’s not important,” Beric cut himself off. “He was excited about the scholarship by the way. That was very nice of you.”

“See?” Cersei lifted a languid hand in farewell. “I do nice things all the time. I’m practically a saint.”

“Let’s not push it,” Beric rolled his eye, and Cersei FINALLY was allowed to take the staircase to the roof deck unhindered.

In the first stroke of luck not of her own making all day, it was just Robert drinking with Thoros.

“Cersei, you came!” He beamed and swept her into a hug, and it just felt so natural and right.

“I’ll go get us another round,” Thoros said looking at their mostly empty beer cans and pointedly not looking at them. Cersei knew that giving him that scholarship had been the right thing to do. He headed down, and then it was just the two of them.

“I heard you gave a good speech,” she said idly.

“Oh please, we both know you wrote it,” Robert teased. 

Cersei blinked.

“But yes, everyone seemed to love it. Must have been my delivery,” Robert gave her a lazy grin.

“That speech was gold! Mr. Hoat could have delivered it and it would have sounded good!” Cersei snapped.

“Awww I missed you,” Robert pushed her hair out of her face. Cersei suddenly wondered if he was going to kiss her. She hadn’t planned for this eventuality, didn’t know what the outcome would be. What about her Essosi banker?

“Then maybe you should have tried to see me,” Cersei sniffed. Robert rolled his eyes.

“I did try! Every time I tried to talk to you at lunch or in the hallway, you brushed me off!”

“That was at school,” Cersei mumbled.

“I called you on your cell like five times!”

“But you didn’t leave a message.” She was aware this was sounding weak.

“What message?! The message was call me back!” Robert shook his head exasperatedly. “That’s why I had to start throwing all of these parties.”

Wait what?

“I beg your pardon?” Cersei asked frowning.

“I knew you would come,” Robert beamed at her. “It’s just like that book Jon Arryn made us read in the fall, the Great Gadsbee.”

“I’m familiar with the work,” Cersei said drily.

“You’re my Daysi, I just had to throw enough parties and eventually you would come,” Robert explained.

“You realize that Gadsbee and Daysi don’t end up together, right?” Cersei arched an eyebrow. 

“But let’s be honest, between Gadsbee and Thom, I’m much closer to Thom,” Robert smirked back.

Cersei was befuddled. He kind of had groveled. It was very sweet and very weird, and he was standing in her personal space and was wearing that dark blue shirt she secretly loved that made his eyes look extra blue. 

“Does Jon Arryn know you actually do the assigned readings? I’m sure you’d make his day,” she said to buy time. Robert shrugged.

“So what’s the deal, are we really broken up or not?” He said bluntly.

And for once, Cersei was at a loss for words.


	113. Brienne (Graduation 7 of 9)

Brienne smiled when she saw Jaime appear on the porch the moment she turned into the driveway. He had clearly been waiting for her, and just the simple fact of his unadulterated happiness at seeing her lifted her spirits.

She had been angsting about whether making Jaime come to graduation was really the right choice at all. She knew he was having a hard time, harder than after his injury even, although she supposed that had garnered him more sympathy than fear. It couldn’t be good for him to mope in bed all day, even if there were certain... aspects of that that Brienne enjoyed as well. But even though it was silly, Brienne rather wanted to see the graduation. She’d never been to a high school graduation before, and was surprised to realize how many of the seniors she would miss seeing in the hallway. Catelyn Tully always had a kind word for her, as did Ellaria Sand. Their lunch table would be rather quiet without Thoros Asshai to poke Clegane out of his surly silences. And the thought of facing Tywin Lannister without Robert rolling his eyes in the background... well it was all somewhat bittersweet.

The person Brienne was at the end of her first year of high school was not the person she was at the beginning. Even now as she thought about the people in the senior class that she considered friendly, if not friends... well nobody had ever been friendly to the old Brienne, maybe because the old Brienne had never given them the chance to be.

“Last chance to change your mind wench,” Jaime opened the car door and pulled her into a lingering kiss. Brienne felt herself melting against him, as she always did.

“I’m sure,” he pulled back to teasingly brush her hair away, “I could think of something to do to keep us entertained,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.

Jaime had seen past the walls that old Brienne had put up, the fortress she had built so she could never be hurt again. If, over the course of this year she had become a more confident and outgoing person, it was because Jaime had held her hand every step of the way. To go to graduation without him—it felt wrong. 

“What do you say?” He kissed her again, his intensely green eyes dancing. 

And staying home with him would be wrong in an entirely different way.

“Jaime,” she muffled a groan. “We can have sex any time. Graduation only happens once.”

“Yes. Once a year from now for me, and once three years from now for you,” Jaime huffed, looking pouty. Brienne touched his cheek.

“I liked this class of seniors. I just want to say goodbye. And I’d rather do it with you,” she gave him puppy eyes.

And that is how they ended up in the back row of a tent on a soccer field, looking up at a makeshift stage. Thoros Asshai came early on. He looked terribly embarrassed which was cute, but not as cute as Beric Dondarrion who had climbed on top of his chair to clap. Beric looked over the moon, and Brienne felt so happy for both of them.

It wasn’t five minutes before Renly popped up, making Brienne even gladder that she had showed up. 

“Can I sit on your shoulders?” He asked and Brienne laughed and obliged. Robert got a roar of applause that practically shook the tent, but Renly still managed to be heard over it, whooping for his brother.

Brienne tried to cheer loudly for everyone who didn’t seem like they had a cheering section, but she saved her loudest applause for Catelyn Tully, who gave her a smile and a little wave as she looked out. Brienne also noticed that she gave Ned Stark a quick peck on the cheek as she walked back down the line.

Robert’s graduation speech was marvelous. She hadn’t known what a good writer he was. When he finished, the whole crowd, Brienne included, were on their feet and not even Jaime’s usual sarcasm could dampen her enthusiasm.

“You’re coming to the after party right?” Renly asked hopefully.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” she promised. It was only later that she realized she had accidentally committed Jaime to yet another public event. It came so natural now, assuming that anywhere they would go, they would be together. But when she saw how his face fell, she knew she couldn’t ask it of him.

“I’m not trying to push you into anything,” she quickly backpedaled. “I just thought if you would come, you might see that more people than you think believe you. You might even have a good time.”

“If you come to my house with me, I promise I’ll have a good time,” Jaime countered, and then they had to pause the conversation temporarily so she could kiss him. Then she drove him home, although not without reminding him that he could always change his mind.

“I don’t think you understand what it’s like to have everybody in the room staring at you and wondering what you’re even doing at a party and who the fuck invited you,” Jaime had sighed. And while Brienne didn’t understand what it was like to have killed somebody, to have seen your friend shot in front of you, to have your face splashed across the daily newspapers, she did know more than a little about being a social outcast.

“I understand more than you would think,” she told him, maybe just a trifle coldly. She regretted saying it the whole way to the party. Jaime had been through so much, he deserved a break. It wasn’t his fault he had hit a nerve with that comment. By the time she got to the Baratheons’, she was wondering if maybe she shouldn’t just turn around and stay home with Jaime after all. 

It didn’t help that it took a while to find anyone she knew. Even by Robert’s standards, this party was large. As she was walking around the patio that skirted the pool, she bumped into Thoros Asshai. He had a handle of rum in his hand, and Brienne realized with a flicker of pride that it was the rum she’d gotten him for his birthday back in October. She remembered being so nervous about what to get for somebody she didn’t even know, and Robert had said ‘just bring rum’ like a fourteen year old girl would know anything about rum. But the salesman had assured her that this particular brand was the next big thing, and he must have been right!

“Congrats!” she told Thoros. “You must be so excited!”

“Thanks Brienne,” he grinned. 

“What’re you going to do now?” Brienne asked.

The grin faded significantly, and Brienne had the distinct impression she’d just put her foot into it somehow.

“Figuring it out I guess,” Thoros took a gulp of rum. 

“I got that one for you, you know,” Brienne said shyly, more to change the subject than anything else. “I don’t really drink rum but the salesman told me it was one of his favorites.”

“Lorathi was he?” Thoros asked casually.

“I think so, yeah,” Brienne tried to recall. “Is it any good?”

“It’s great,” Thoros said and the grin was back. “Really truly awesome. You’re welcome to have some?”

Brienne shook her head.

“Shall we find my sister then? She was wondering if you were going to be here, I know she’d like to see you.”

Thus rescued from awkwardly pretending to be on her phone, Brienne was deposited with Melisandre and Stannis. Then Davos and his girlfriend, who Brienne recognized from prom but didn’t think she’d actually met, joined them. The girl’s name was Marya, and she seemed a little overwhelmed by the hordes of the ostentatiously wealthy. 

“They’re not so bad,” Brienne assured her. 

“That’s what Davos keeps saying,” Marya admitted.

“Like Beric is super nice. Have you met Beric?” Brienne tried to think who the nicest people at the party would be.

“We bumped into him,” Marya looked nervous.

“He’s super sweet right?” Brienne smiled.

“I didn’t get much of a chance to talk with him,” Marya said. “He was... Erm... busy talking to a guy named Mace.”

“Oh, well he’s definitely one of the best,” Brienne assured her. Marya looked unconvinced. They turned back to Stannis and Davos’ conversation.

“I’ve called a cleaning service to come by tomorrow,” Stannis was saying. “If mother and father can’t be bothered to show up for Robert’s graduation, they’re not going to notice another line on his credit card bill.”

“I’m sure they feel just awful about missing it,” Brienne said quickly, seeing that Marya looked rather nonplussed by the Baratheons’ unique parenting style. “I know how upset my father would be. Graduation is such an important transition point in your life! Everything changes!”

“Everything doesn’t need to change,” Stannis snapped, and Brienne had the disorienting feeling of having put her foot in it for the second time in twenty minutes. Maybe Stannis just didn’t understand what she was saying? 

“Robert’s going off to the Aerie,” Brienne tried to explain. “That’s thousands of miles away! Renly already set up a weekly Skype call with him and updated Robert’s calendar to remind him automatically so he won’t forget. You’ll be lucky if he even makes it home for winter break, you know how treacherous some of those mountain passes can get, one bad avalanche and he’ll be stuck on campus through New Years...” Stannis spun on his heel and walked away from them.

Brienne blushed, feeling unaccountably off balance. If Jaime were here, he would make a joke about Stannis to smooth things over. 

“Oh dear, did I say something to offend him?” She said nervously, knowing she clearly had. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Melisandre shook her head pityingly. “He’s gotten all twisted up about Robert leaving and he won’t admit it because the Lord forbid they actually acknowledge that they don’t hate each other.”

If anything, Marya looked even less impressed, so Brienne was glad that she decided to stay with the girls instead of accompanying Davos to go after Stannis. Stannis could be a bit of an acquired taste. To be honest, Brienne wasn’t sure she had fully managed to acquire it herself.

“How do you know the Baratheons?” Marya asked Brienne.

“When I was in fifth grade, some boys were picking me on me,” Brienne admitted sheepishly. “This complete ass named Ron Connington and his crew. And then the tiniest kindergartener I had ever seen came climbing over the fence and started yelling at them. I thought we were about to get our butts kicked, but the boys just left. That was Renly, he’s the youngest. We’ve been friends ever since.”

“He sounds nice,” Marya smiled.

“He is,” Brienne assured her. “No offense to Stannis, but Renly is by far the most normal and well adjusted of the three.”

Melisandre rolled her eyes.

“You are talking about an eight year old who bought you a BDSM outfit for your birthday,” she said drily.

“What?!” Marya’s eyes bugged slightly.

“That’s a long story,” Brienne coughed. 

“Speaking of which,” Melisandre gave her a coy smile. “Where is Jaime?”

“He didn’t want to come,” Brienne mumbled. Melisandre and Marya both looked sympathetic, but it wasn’t like that! She wasn’t mad or hurt, she understood how he felt. She just missed him, that was all. Melisandre changed the subject, and Brienne was grateful, but she could help but think about what Jaime would be doing if he were here. He would have known how to put Marya at ease, and then wandered off to get everyone a drink and then slid his arm around her in that casual way that made half the girls around nearly cry with envy.

Her train of thought was briefly interrupted by Davos returning.

“I have to talk to Renly Baratheon, want to come?” He asked Marya.

Brienne gave Marya an encouraging nod. Renly was much friendlier than Stannis, after all, no matter what Melisandre might say.

“Sure, I’ll catch you girls later,” Marya smiled at Melisandre and Brienne.

“I hope Marya is having a good time,” Brienne confided in Melisandre.

“It hardly matters if she isn’t,” Melisandre shrugged. “It’s not like she’ll ever have to go to another one of these parties.”

Brienne was a little stunned by that realization. That was true she supposed. The last of Robert’s ragers. Again she was hit by a foolish pang of sadness that Jaime wasn’t here to witness the end of an era.

Stannis came back, and Brienne was relieved to note that he didn’t seem particularly annoyed with her. Water under the bridge and all that.

After ten minutes of idle chatting, steered far away from the subject of graduation, Brienne excused herself to use the ladies’. To her mild annoyance, somebody had dragged a chair in front of the door. She pulled it away, only for Marya to come tumbling out.

“Davos locked me in here!” Marya blurted angrily. “Can you believe that?

“Davos?!” Brienne said in surprise. He was so sweet to her! “He must have had a reason?”

“He said he wanted me to wait here while he talked to Robert upstairs,” Marya huffed.

“See, there you go,” Brienne nodded. Not that locking someone in a bathroom was ever excusable per se, but she certainly understood the basic instinct. What Marya needed was a controlled environment of normal people. And Robert’s reactions were unpredictable. Yes, safest to keep Marya away from upstairs.

“Let’s just go back to the pool and talk to Mel,” Brienne said soothingly, guiding her out to the terrace.

Only to be met with an all too familiar cry.

“BRIENNE! BRIENNE! HELP!” Renly howled as Davos Seaworth stoically marched up the little bridge over the pool, stopped in the center and then threw him over, scarf and all.

“Davos?!” Marya gasped in horror and Davos looked up with pure guilt written across his features.

“This isn’t what it looks like...” he started.

“BRIENNE, AVENGE MEEEEE!” Renly wailed dramatically from the pool below. Brienne sighed. There was really no other option.

She started up the bridge toward Davos, whose normally patient expression had melted into fear.

“It was Robert’s idea, I didn’t have a choice, you can ask Stannis,” Davos held his hands up pleadingly.

“Never fear,” said an all too familiar voice. “I shall defend you, Stannis’ friend!”

Jaime Lannister marched up the bridge, pushing past Davos to confront her with a grin.

Brienne beamed at the sight of him, his perfect blonde hair ruffling in the wind, shirtless and toned and perfect...

“My name isn’t Stannis’ friend,” Davos muttered.

“Daveth,” Jaime said.

“Nope,” Davos crossed his arms.

“Look do you want to be defended or not,” Jaime said impatiently. Davos only grumbled something under his breath and walked down from the bridge to try and catch Marya who had stormed off.

“Fear not fair maiden!” Jaime shouted after him cheekily. “Your honor is safe!”

“Move,” Brienne said with a quirk of a smile. “I have to avenge Renly.”

“Make me,” Jaime grinned.

She put her shoulder down and barreled at him, just as she had a thousand years ago. This time instead of throwing a punch, she playfully grappled with him, sending them staggering back and forth across the bridge.

“Wench,” Jaime whispered, his face inches from her, as they strained to throw each other.

“What?” She whispered back.

“Do you have your cell phone on you?”

“No it’s in my bag, why—“ Brienne gave a shriek as he flung them both off the edge and they landed in the pool with a splash.

She popped up sputtering, only to see an equally drenched Jaime grinning at her. 

“You came!” She finally managed, surprise and happiness battling it out.

“I wouldn’t leave you for the world,” Jaime said, and then he leaned forward and kissed her.

She closed her eyes, as the whole world faded away, giggling as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Groooossss!” Renly shouted from somewhere in the background and everything was as it should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!!! And if that's not your thing, general best wishes! Since this is a good day to be grateful, I wanted to say a special (and silly) thank you to all my reviewers who have dropped more than five reviews on this story. There aren't very many stories I drop more than a couple reviews on, but you all have made me much better! At a certain point, it becomes just as much your story as mine, because I've written scenes you suggested, fixed mistakes you've noticed, scrambled to address ongoing questions! So I went back and counted up everybody's total reviews, and here's our 5+ Hall of Fame! Order is in chronological order of first review. Plus, just for fun, I've tried to guess the pairing that first made you click on this story. Some of you are pretty easy and some are wild guesses :)
> 
> Yokotoyama (19) B/T!  
> AlsoSprachVelociraptor (10) B/T!  
> Snowberry (6) ??? M/S?  
> MogIsMyCatsName (132 lol) ??? J/B?  
> Sincerously (8) ? Cersei/Winning?  
> TeamGwenee (29) No idea ;)  
> ImberReader (49) J/B!  
> theworldunseen (29) J/B!  
> thedistressedgoddess (8) J/B!  
> SydneyLouWho (5) ??? J/B?  
> MetaCapricorn (12) M/S!  
> HuntingViolets (10) J/B!  
> VickyPerkins (12) J/B!  
> aliengirlscout (21) ??? J/B?
> 
> And a shoutout to Seeas and youthwillnotendure who were at 4 :D


	114. Robert (Graduation 8 of 9)

“I’ll make it up to you,” Cersei had whispered in his ear, teasing and full of promise, the day she broke up with him in the cafeteria. It hadn’t felt like a breakup then, only some new game.

But then she had gone cold and distant, and at first he thought it had been something to do with Euron Greyjoy and tried to talk to her, to ask if he had hurt her, and Cersei had only rolled her eyes and asked him if he really thought she couldn’t handle Euron Greyjoy.

Of course he didn’t. He thought she could handle anything. So he didn’t understand how she could be handling this quite so badly.

Robert knew he was not an expert in many subjects. But he did consider himself something of an authority on worst ways to get dumped. At a school dance in front of everyone you know was no picnic. But limbo?! Not knowing, waking up every morning with this awful lump of uncertainty in his chest? 

She wasn’t taking his calls or talking to him. But she kept popping up in odd places, and he knew she’d written that graduation speech, could hear her voice in his head when he read it out loud. Sometimes he read it out loud for no other purpose.

It was the last paragraph that really got him, because it felt like a message from her to him. She wanted to see him, she just didn’t know how, and it occurred to Robert that Cersei, who was ruthlessly competent at everything, maybe just wasn’t very good at relationships. (The irony also occurred to him. He had cheated on every girlfriend he’d ever had, technically including Cersei. That didn’t mean she wasn’t hopelessly bad at this.)

The solution was obviously to throw a party. That was Robert’s solution to many of his problems, but only because it was such a very good solution. And then when that didn’t work, he threw another and another. But he had a good feeling about the graduation party, because he had given her speech, including the message at the end, and he’d felt like she was watching.

So he’d posted up on the roof deck, drinking and generally feeling like the king of the world, looking down on his loyal subjects. It was his last high school party and thinking that made him feel a little down. His first one had been freshman fall, and he and Lyanna had had sex in the hot tub after and she’d made him promise it would always be just like this. Cersei would have never extracted a promise he couldn’t keep.

Lyanna hadn’t walked at graduation. Ned said he’d found a bunch of her camping gear gone and a note saying that she’d left to hike the Rhoyne from the mouth at Volantis to the source in the Norvosi peaks. Robert hoped she found whatever she was looking for.

He peeked down at the crowd again. Still no Cersei.

“Wassup?” Thoros poked his head out on the balcony. “Are you drinking by yourself?”

“I’m drinking with you,” Robert grinned and grabbed him in a headlock. “Just don’t talk to me about next year.”

“Fuck that,” Thoros agreed, and they both sipped their beers in companionable silence.

Leaving made him feel just a tad uneasy, and he felt grateful again that Ned was coming with him, and Catelyn Tully, even though it would be hard to get a word out of Ned with all the mooning he would be doing over Cat.

He knew Renly was a little worried and honestly he was a little worried, because who would toughen Renly up if he wasn’t there to give him Indian burns and wet willies? They were Skyping, Renly had told him, every weekend, but that wasn’t the same and Renly was so small and the world was so big and Robert frankly thought it would be better if both of his brothers relocated to the Vale next year.

He included Stannis in that thought, even though he was not worried about Stannis. Stannis had always been disturbingly self-sufficient. Like a self-oiling machine. He was probably glad Robert was leaving, that the crumbs of attention Steffon and Cassana occasionally dropped would now fall on him instead of Robert. Certainly he had been even surlier than usual to Robert. Robert hoped he realized how meaningless those crumbs were, how any praise would come when convenient for their parents, how any interest would be fleeting.

No, in the little bubble of a daydream he had built, Stannis would be in the Vale because Robert needed him, not the other way around. To be practical and serious and... there. Robert had always been able to count on Stannis. He felt like some support structure had been taken away, that he was off-balance without his middle brother.

So in his bubble, he would have Ned and Catelyn and Renly and Stannis. Beric and Thoros could come too, and Melisandre to keep Stannis happy. And that just left... 

The door opened once more, and Robert’s heart jumped because his luck had held once more.

“Cersei, you came!” He beamed, and swept her into a hug and she fit against him as she always had, tiny and delicate and soft.

“I’ll get us another round,” Thoros said with a wink, and Robert grinned at him over Cersei’s head.

Then he had to let her go, and it was clear that something was off with his Daysi, that her armor of self-righteous confidence was gone.

So he teased her and made her laugh and flirted with her, and when none of that worked, he just came out with it.

“Are we really broken up or not?”

Cersei looked up at him, her normally flinty green eyes round with uncertainty.

“Just FYI, I’m going to say no if I get a vote,” Robert cleared his throat after a moment of silence.

“You don’t,” Cersei snarked automatically.

“And I think if you’re honest with yourself, you want to say no too,” Robert crossed his arms.

“And this is based on your deep insights into my psyche?” Cersei quirked an eyebrow.

“Nope,” Robert said cheerfully. “I never have a clue what’s going on in your head. It’s based on YOUR deep insights into your psyche.”

“Do tell,” Cersei looked unimpressed.

“Just listen okay?” Robert pulled out the piece of paper his graduation speech was written on and unfolded it. He’d folded and refolded it so many times that it had gotten hard to read, but he smoothed out the creases and gave it his best shot.

“Goodbyes are a natural part of growing up, but they don’t have to be forever. And I hope this one isn’t. Because while distance might keep me away, I’m never going to forget you. And I’ll be dropping by sooner than you think. So don’t you dare forget me.”

“And?” Cersei waited.

“You basically committed me to visiting you,” Robert pointed out. “Or maybe you were promising to visit me? If you wrote it in a letter meant for me, but it was meant for me to read aloud to you, who was promising to visit who?”

“This may be the only time I ever say this but, Robert, you’re really overthinking this,” Cersei rolled her eyes.

“Nuh-uh,” Robert stuck his tongue out. “If you really wanted to break up, why did you give me herpes?”

“For fun?”

“I think you didn’t want me hooking up with other girls. Because on a deeper level, you want me for yourself,” Robert gave a smug smile. 

“No I definitely did that one for fun,” Cersei said flatly. Robert refused to be deterred.

“Well you just said that one! That means I was on to something with the first one!”

Cersei fidgeted.

“Okay, were you unhappy?” Robert said impatiently.

“No,” Cersei looked at the ground.

“So what exactly is the issue?” 

“How am I supposed to meet my Essosi banker if I’m dating you?” Cersei bit her lip.

“Who?” Robert asked bewildered.

“My suave sophisticated Essosi banker! He’s ten years older than me and has traveled the world and he’s brilliant and cultured and will help me run Lannister Corp. and he worships the ground that I walk on,” Cersei explained. “I love you but you’re not in my plan.”

“You love me?” Robert blinked.

“Shut up, don’t make fun,” Cersei scowled and crossed her arms.

“Hey no, it’s... I wasn’t... I love you too Queenie,” Robert stammered. And then he kissed her. Because that’s what you do after you tell someone you love them for the first time, even if they’ve just dumped you for a figment of their imagination.

Only once he started kissing her, Cersei didn’t exactly shove him off. So he pushed her against the wall and deepened the kiss and felt her fingers knotting in his hair. “Robert,” Cersei gasped in his ear, and he felt his cock jump and he realized he had never wanted anybody so badly in his entire life.

“Stop,” he broke the kiss and took a step back from her, Cersei with her flushed cheeks and her parted lips, coverup half off one shoulder.

“You can’t tell me you want this to be our last time,” Robert half-panted.

“I was thinking,” Cersei paused to catch her own breath. “If nobody knew we were hooking up, I would still be available to date Essosi bankers.”

“Like a secret relationship?” Robert grinned.

“Like secret friends,” Cersei corrected. 

“Who hook up?”

“Secret friends with benefits,” Cersei conceded.

“Can I sleep with other girls?” Robert asked hopefully. Cersei glared.

“Exclusive secret friends with benefits,” she ground out.

“See this sounds like a secret relationship,” Robert scratched his head. Well, they had started fake dating, why shouldn’t they try out secret dating? 

“It’s not, because I’m going to find my Essosi banker in college and I’m going to marry him,” Cersei sniffed.

“Your Essosi banker sounds boring,” Robert grinned and then he wound his hand into her hair and pulled her back toward him.

“He’s not,” Cersei said when they had finished, and were lying on their backs on the deck looking up at the bluebird sky. Robert didn’t have to ask who she meant. He propped himself up on an elbow and smiled down at her.

“Super boring,” he reiterated. “You’ll be bored to tears. I give him six months.”

“What do you know,” Cersei huffed. 

“I’m your secret exclusive friend with benefits,” Robert smirked and brushed a strand of her golden hair away. “I know these things.”

“You’re a moron,” Cersei said, but she cuddled in closer anyway. He kissed her, and she kissed him back and Robert was just starting to ponder whether there would be a round two when someone awkwardly cleared their throat.

“Excuse me?” 

It was Stannis’ friend Davos, the one Stannis had wanted the internship for. Cersei (despite having redressed) recoiled.

“What?” Robert said sulkily, annoyed at the moment having been ruined.

“I have a message for you,” Davos blushed. “From Renly. It was his task for me, um, here,” he thrust a crumpled piece of paper at them.

Robert took it, but Cersei lifted it from his hands briskly.

“Cersei, stop sucking face with Robert and admit I was right. XO Renly,” her nostrils flared with rage.

“So um, what do you want me to do?” Davos said nervously, keeping a wary eye on Cersei.

“Um,” Robert felt caught flat-footed. He’d been thinking something more along the lines of a frat-hazing, but Renly had used his favor to cockblock him! That demanded a response.

“Catch Renly and throw him in the pool,” Robert finally decided.

“Wait really?!” Davos groaned.

“Yes,” Robert said more confidently. “Strength and speed are important attributes to Stormsend Shipping.”

Davos gave a long suffering sigh and left. Frankly, Robert thought the was getting off easy all things considered. He had been thinking about making Davos climb the flagpole and hang his briefs from the top.

“I’m going to go circulate before Renly spreads pernicious rumors about us,” Cersei smoothed her hair. She had a slight smile on her face as if she approved of his handling of the situation. 

“I don’t know what pernicious means,” Robert said. Cersei rolled her eyes and kissed him on the cheek.

“My Essosi banker will.”

All the same, he found himself grinning as she left. He gave her a five minute head start and then headed down himself.

Only to run into Stannis on the second floor landing.

“Robert!” Stannis snapped, face dark with fury. “There are people having sex in our guest room!”

Robert sighed heavily. He’d put out those textbooks that were on fire hadn’t he? And shut down that game of beer pong on the roof because Stannis said it was unsafe. And locked the liquor cabinet. Did Stannis take some kind of joy in using him to ruin other people’s fun?

He stuck his head in the guest room.

“What the hell?!” Arthur Dayne groaned. “You’re like the third person to walk in on us. We should be charging you pervs!”

“It’s my house,” Robert said mildly. “I should be charging you.”

“We’re sorry Robert,” Elia squeaked apologetically from under the bed where she had promptly hid.

“Stannis has requested no further R rated shenanigans,” Robert said apologetically. “I’m happy for you guys, but keep it in your pants Dayne.”

Duty done, he walked back into the hallway where Stannis was glaring at him, arms crossed.

“Happy?” Robert said stiffly.

“That you are failing to control the chaos that you have unleashed upon this house by inviting half the known world? Not really,” Stannis snipped back.

“What do you care?” Robert snapped. “You’re getting what you always wanted. A house without me in it. Just suck it up for like a week.”

“You’re one to talk! You never shut up about all the bigger and better things waiting for you in college! Go play pro football and bang hot cheerleaders! What do I care if I never see you again!” Stannis retorted angrily.

There was a moment when they stared at each angrily and Robert had a disconcerting moment where it felt like he was looking into a funhouse mirror, his own dark blue eyes glaring at him from a different face. Funny that he and Stannis never looked alike except when they were angry. Funny or sad maybe. He wasn’t sure which.

“I would care if I never saw you again,” Robert said quietly.

Stannis scoffed.

“That’s why you’ve been spending your last weeks in King’s Landing throwing endless parties,” he bit.

“I was trying to see Cersei, she was blowing me off,” Robert said bluntly. “It didn’t have anything to do with graduation beyond that being why she was blowing me off.”

Stannis opened his mouth and then shut it again.

“Right,” Robert shrugged. “I’m going to get a refill.”

He had gotten halfway down the hall before he realized that Stannis was following him.

“Did you want something?” Robert said in a nastier tone of voice than he meant to. They were just so good at getting under each other’s skin that it came automatically. And whatever, Stannis was being a jackass.

“That’s not true,” Stannis said, staring at him.

“It totally is,” Robert rolled his eyes. “Ask Cersei if you don’t believe me.”

“No,” Stannis frowned. “Not that. What you said earlier. A house without you. That’s not what I want.”

“Could have fooled me,” Robert crossed his arms. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks. And you always complain about me being Mom and Dad’s favorite.”

“Well first you are, and that’s annoying because it’s incredibly underserved,” Stannis shot back. “And second I was avoiding you because I know how excited you are about going to college and I didn’t want to ruin it because I’m not excited. I’m going to miss you and the house is going to feel so empty and it just... sucks.”

The word seemed to hang there for a moment, because Robert hadn’t been expecting it. That Stannis had felt that heaviness too, that after everything, sixteen years of fighting and having each other’s back and torturing each other and being in each other’s space all the time, relentlessly, driving each other CRAZY, it was all just... over.

“Yeah,” Robert said finally. “I’m excited about going to college but that doesn’t mean I’m excited about leaving home. It totally sucks. Who’s going to get me in the shower when I’m wasted and wake me up when I sleep through my alarm and turn the stove off when I forget?” He have a wan smile. “I don’t suppose you’d consider moving to the Vale?”

Stannis laughed, a harsh sad laugh.

“You’re going to burn your dorm down,” he said.

“Aerys the Second,” Robert grinned. “I’m like his successor.” He hit Stannis’ shoulder, and Stannis winced.

“Why do you go for the bullet wound every time?!” Stannis groused.

“You baby, you use that as an excuse for everything,” Robert rolled his eyes.

“I got shot!”

“And you’ll never let us forget it.”

“... do you still have the key to the liquor cabinet?”

Robert turned to Stannis, a smile breaking across his face.

“Please tell me this is going where I think it’s going.”

“Let’s get drunk.”

“FINALLY!”


	115. Melisandre (Graduation 9 of 9)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here we are... the last chapter in this very goofy fic. I never thought when I started that it would be 275,000 words or 115 chapters or that I would be so sad to finish it!! If you've enjoyed reading, I hope you'll leave a comment, even if it's just to tell me your favorite part of the fic. I do have a sequel to plan after all! Thanks for all your support and hopefully see you soon! (And Happy New Year from a certain gang of by now very traumatized high schoolers!)

By six o’clock, the party wasn’t winding down exactly, but it was certainly getting calmer. A party that started at noon appeared to have crescendoed around four, and was now entering the kumbaya stage. Melisandre felt a bit at loose ends because Davos had run off after Marya when she had stormed away after the throwing a screaming child in the pool incident and hadn’t come back. Melisandre suspected they were having sex somewhere so she wasn’t in any particular hurry to track them down.

Meanwhile Jaime and Brienne had migrated to the hot tub, and Melisandre definitely wasn’t in a particular hurry to interrupt that. Not that they were having sex, just being nauseatingly cute.

She decided to find Stannis who had vanished hours ago when he went into the house and didn’t come back. Picking her way through assorted drinking games, one fight and several make out sessions, Melisandre finally found him more or less lying across the stairs, a bottle of whiskey dangling from one hand. Robert was sprawled below him, head tipped back so he could see his brother as they talked.

“And I’m going to miss you packing for all my away games! You’re the best packer,” Robert said dazedly.

“I thought it annoyed you, that I didn’t trust you to do it,” Stannis hiccuped.

“No! You pack so many snacks! You made me orange slices! I’m going to miss you so much Stanny.”

“I’m going to miss you too,” Stannis leaned down to pet Robert’s hair like he would pet a dog. Well maybe not. Stannis didn’t really pet dogs. Like someone else would pet a dog.

“Why do we never say that?” Robert asked.

“Cuz we’re Baratheons, an’ we’re supposed to be all stoic and strong,” Stannis waved the bottle. Melisandre bit her lip so as to not laugh and draw their attention. Passed out nearly on top of each other on the staircase, they looked anything but.

“S’right,” Robert slurred. “Gotta set a good example for Renly.”

Shaking her head, Melisandre looked around for her own brother. She spotted Beric, frowning at his phone, and on the assumption that Thoros would be close by, walked over. Not that she was terribly dismayed when he wasn’t. She had been feeling benignly disposed toward Beric all day because it was clear that he couldn’t be happier for Thoros. He was adorable and they were adorable and if she didn’t share that information with Beric it was only because it was fun to make him squirm.

At the moment though, he seemed distressed enough that she didn’t have the heart. She watched him call a number, frantically looking around the room, and then hang up blushing. Then he did it again.

As he began to dial the number a third time, Melisandre pulled a page out of her brother’s book and yoinked the phone out of his hand.

“Wait—“ Beric cried in alarm.

“Have you thought of something dirty to say yet,” Ellaria Sand’s voice purred on the other end. Melisandre immediately hung up as well.

“It’s not what it sounds like!” Beric blurted. 

Melisandre wished he were shorter so she could pat him on the head. 

“I would never believe that you were cheating on Thoros with Ellaria Sand. Like not even if I literally walked in on the two of you having sex.”

“Um thank you. I think,” Beric said uncertainly.

“Now tell me what’s actually going on, because it sounds fascinating,” Melisandre drawled.

“Okay, um Oberyn stole a bunch of Thoros’ stuff as a joke. And distributed it amongst his cronies to hide. And I’ve managed to track everything down except for his phone, because Ellaria never stays on the line long enough for me to find her and she keeps moving around.”

“Get to the good part,” Melisandre put a hand on her hip. Beric blushed.

“She said she’d stay on the line, but only if I...” Beric’s face reddened even further and he seemed physically incapable of finishing that sentence.

“Talked her off?” Melisandre offered, hiding a grin. Mortified, Beric nodded.

“So what’s the issue exactly?” Melisandre teased. “Performance anxiety?”

“Don’t laugh!” Beric protested. “I can’t think of anything to say! And even if I could, I don’t think I could say it to Ellaria!”

“So why do you keep calling?” Melisandre laughed.

“I’m hoping I’ll head the phone ring, or hear where her voice is coming from when she answers it,” Beric admitted. 

Melisandre considered. There were probably a limited number of places Ellaria could be hiding that Beric hadn’t come across her yet. On the other hand... Melisandre stole a glance at the stair case where Stannis was still lolling with a glassy expression. She might as well do this the fun way.

“Give it here,” Melisandre held out her hand. She rang Thoros’ number again.

“You’re boring me darling,” Ellaria answered cheekily.

“I hope you’re somewhere private,” Melisandre replied smirking and put her on speaker. She and Beric started walking through the house.

“Maybe I like an audience,” Ellaria shot back, not sounding the least bit surprised at hearing her voice. There was definitely background noise. Not tucked away in a bathroom then.

“Because I was going to tell you to touch yourself,” Melisandre continued, gesturing at Beric to sweep the den. “To feel your fingers against your panties, and imagine they were my fingers. What would I feel Ellaria? Are you wet already—“ she had to pause to roll her eyes at Beric who had clapped his hands over his ears. She resisted the urge to point out that she knew he was getting laid on a near nightly basis because Thoros always woke her up sneaking out. 

“Maybe a little,” Ellaria coyly replied. Just then, there was the distinct sound of a car honking in the background. 

“Driveway,” Melisandre whispered to Beric and they hurried toward the front of the house while she tried to keep Ellaria on the line.

“Can you feel it Ellaria? My mouth on you? Licking and sucking and swirling—“ she was saying while Beric was stoically ignoring her when they finally spotted Ellaria’s black curls leaned against the Baratheon mailbox.

“Spoilsport,” Ellaria pouted but she handed the phone over to a fuming Beric.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” Melisandre sniffed.

“The pleasure was all mine,” Ellaria gave her a wink.

“Where’s my thank you,” Melisandre teased Beric. Naturally he took her seriously.

“I’m sorry, thank you. I could have never gotten that phone back without your help,” he said earnestly. 

“I was delighted to do it,” Melisandre gave back, letting her voice dip once more into the sultry tone she had used for Ellaria. Beric blushed.

“Okay, um I’m going to have a drink. It’s been a long day,” Beric admitted. “Pretty crazy about Thoros’ scholarship right?”

“What scholarship?” Melisandre tilted her head.

She found Thoros watching a game of flip cup.

“Why do Westerosi always need games to drink? Why can’t they just drink?” He pondered.

“Did you seriously get a four year scholarship to college this morning and I’m only hearing about it now?!” Melisandre crossed her arms.

Thoros sighed deeply.

“I did lose my phone. I might have texted you otherwise.”

“Beric has it. And you wouldn’t have. Why didn’t you tell me, that’s great!”

“I guess,” Thoros shrugged. “No, it definitely is. It’s just I feel like I should apply next year before Cersei changes her mind and uses it for something else.”

“Okay?” Melisandre waited for the issue.

“Well what about you? I can’t just leave you here by yourself!” Thoros huffed. Melisandre arched an eyebrow.

“Oh noooo, trapped in a beautiful seaside mansion with a pool, the horror...” she drawled. “I think if the Dondarrions were secretly cannibals we would have figured it out by now.”

“Well Mrs. D does spend an awful lot of her time cooking,” Thoros offered. “I’m serious though. You’re all I have. And after everything I put you through—“

“Everything I put you through,” Melisandre corrected, rolling her eyes, they had this fight at least once a week.

“Everything we’ve gone through,” Thoros compromised, “you deserve to have someone around looking out for you.”

“I have Stannis,” Melisandre reminded him. “And the Dondarrions, and you’d be a phone call away. I assume you were thinking somewhere near the Citadel?”

Sheepishly Thoros nodded.

“My scores are in the strike zone for Oldtown University. It’s public so it’ll be cheaper and I can use more of the money for housing. I haven’t thought it through yet, but it was an idea.”

Melisandre hugged him.

“I think it’s a great idea.”

“I might not even get in.”

“You’ll get in. And Oldtown’s only a two hour drive, you’ll be able to see me whenever you like.”

“You wouldn’t rather have me here,” Thoros said uncertainly.

Melisandre stared at him.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, because you are a wonderful brother and I love you very much, but you are a TERRIBLE roommate,” she raised her eyebrows. “You are loud, you snore, you never pick up your dirty laundry. You’re always leaving clothes on my side of the line—“

“Okay I think I get the—“

“You always wait until I’m asleep before you wake me up to sneak into Beric’s room. I mean why?! Why not just go when I’m awake instead of managing to wake me up EVERY TIME?!”

“Well I didn’t know that—“

“And when you do stay in our room it’s worse! Why do you have to hit snooze three thousand times?! Just set your alarm for the time that you’re actually getting up and GET UP!”

“Fine, I get the picture,” Thoros clapped his hands over his ears. Melisandre used his momentary lapse in watchfulness to swipe his flask and take a sip. She shuddered.

“Is this... rum?”

“It’s Lorathi rum. I used to be on the fence, but I think I’m adjusting to the taste?”

“Or you’re just slowly getting drunker,” Melisandre offered.

“Or that. So you really don’t care?”

“I’m happy for you,” Melisandre smiled and bumped him with her shoulder. “I really don’t mind.”

“Okay, cool,” Thoros smiled back.

“Can’t believe you graduated.”

“It was touch and go,” Thoros said glibly. 

“Pffff you’re a shadow of your former self,” Melisandre teased. “When was the last time you actually cut class? Or showed up drunk? Or got high?”

“Speaking of which,” Thoros waggled his eyebrows and produced a baggie. “Wanna do a reading?”

Melisandre scowled.

“Not particularly.”

What did she care if the flames had been quiet ever since she burned the temple. There were more important things than the strange visions she sometimes got.

“Awwww c’mon. Let’s use that giant bonfire pit on the beach! We’ve never done one out here! The sun doesn’t set for another hour, we can collect driftwood while it’s still light out,” Thoros wheedled. Melisandre felt her resolve wavering.

“Fine,” she said sullenly. “But only because you’re graduating.”

Somehow Thoros managed to get Robert and Stannis off the staircase, and naturally Beric dropped everything to help. By the time Jaime Lannister sauntered down to the beach with Brienne, Cersei, Tyrion and Renly in tow, the sun was setting and they had a roaring fire going.

“Of course they show up when the work is already done,” Stannis huffed, brushing sand off his hands from collecting wood. The ocean air seemed to have restored some measure of sobriety, but at the cost of his drunken good humor.

He seemed less annoyed when Davos and Marya made an appearance, looking significantly less put together than they had when Melisandre last saw them. She considered telling Davos that his t-shirt was on inside out.

“This is the biggest best bonfire we’ve ever made,” Robert beamed, looking up at it.

“It’s because we brought a base of dry kindling from the house. You see, if you can a layer of dryer wood at the bottom—“ Beric tried to explain the mechanics of fire-building to a blissfully zoned out Robert.

Melisandre sat down next to Thoros and tugged Stannis down with her, even though he ground his teeth when he saw Thoros was rolling a joint. Beyond Stannis was Davos and then Marya and then Brienne, Jaime’s arm casually draped around her shoulder. Tyrion sat next to Jaime, laughing at their conversation. Next to them, Renly had fallen asleep in Robert’s lap. Cersei was leaning to her right to talk to Robert, and Melisandre noticed where she had put her hand down was next to Robert’s hand, so their fingers were brushing. To the left of Cersei’s golden curls was Beric’s darker blonde head, tilted toward Thoros like a sunflower toward light, a silly grin on his face as he listened to Thoros’ tall tales.

“This is where we met! Over there by the path! You tripped over me and I was in love,” Thoros was saying and he took a hit and passed the joint to her without looking. 

She took a long puff, and rolling her eyes at Stannis’ expression, reached over him to pass it to Davos.

“You’re right,” Marya was saying shyly. “They’re not that bad once you get to know them.”

Davos blew a smoke ring and then handed it to Marya. He laughed when she sputtered and coughed after she inhaled too deeply, and only Jaime’s quick reflexes caught the joint before it hit the sand, though he had to dive across Brienne’s lap to catch it. He stayed there smoking and blowing puffs into Brienne’s face until she could ignore him no longer and wrenched the blunt away from from him, passing it over Tyrion to Robert.

Tyrion pouted and Robert laughed. 

“Political science? That sounds kind of hard,” he was saying to Cersei, as he inhaled and the embers at the end of the joint burned brighter.

“It’s really not,” Cersei scolded gently, taking it from him and tossing her hair back. She blew up toward the stars, seemingly studying them for a moment. “I’ll find you some study guides but you just have to put in the work. I’ll know if you don’t study, I’m going to call Ned and ask him what your grades are, don’t think he won’t tell me!”

She passed to Beric who also took a token hit before cuddling into Thoros and passing it on. Melisandre leaned her own head against Stannis’ shoulder, toying with the roll between her fingers. For all his big talk about readings, Thoros had just wanted to build a fire on the beach and get high. Why did that not surprise her?

Melisandre looked with sleepy possessiveness at the faces illuminated around the circle, the warm light softening even Stannis’ features. She took another deep breath, let the smoke flood her senses. These were her people. She felt it in that moment, that magic circle on the beach, as the waves crashed against shore beyond, a thousand twinkling stars strewn out above them and almost within their grasp. She wondered if that’s what Cersei had seen when she looked up, if she had followed the flames of the bonfire reaching up to singe the sky itself, seen the stars and felt that they were in her reach. There was a wide wide world out there, waiting for them. Melisandre just hoped that their circle would hold and keep them safe.

Almost unconsciously, her gaze drifted back down to the fire. A flicker in the flames, a shifting. It was just all of them sitting there around the fire. Only... Melisandre leaned forward slightly, squinting. Only older. And older Melisandre smiled back, the crows feet at her eyes crinkling. And then she leaned over and kissed older Stannis on the cheek. The flames crackled again and they were gone.

Melisandre passed the joint over Stannis to Davos again and then dragged Stannis backwards into the sand with her so she could put her head on his chest and listen to his heart beat. He stroked her hair absently and Melisandre thought about that vision, there and gone so fast she might have imagined it. But still. They’d had each other and they’d had their friends. No doubt there were some wrinkles along the way (literally in her case). But it sure seemed like they lived happily ever after, and that was as good an ending as any.


End file.
